Just Like My Father
by Dimfuin
Summary: Character study on Faramir: After Faramir and Eowyn have been married for 14 years, she dies suddenly and Faramir is thrown headlong into what is, was, and might be. Join me as we ride an emotional rollercoaster with our favorite hero...
1. Author's Note Please read

Dear Reader,

There are a few things that need to be said before you read the story, and please, don't skip over this just to get to it. This will be worth your time, I promise.

First, I want you all to know that this is a tragedy. Actually, it starts out as a tragedy;-) I'm just telling you so that all of my more fluff-loving readers will be warned. But that is not to say this won't have a happy ending. It will. Maybe not what you expect, but happy none the less. What I've been aiming for is something well written...my best, hopefully.

You're probably wondering why I even wrote this story in the first place. Well, I'm not QUITE sure. I know if I was reading a story like this, I'd smash the computer in frustration. But I think if I did this right, you will see it as a really touching and uplifting story. Basically, this was one of those stories that kept on yelling in my head, "Write me! Try it!" over and over and over and over and over and...you get the picture. So finally, I gave in a said, "What the heck? I might as well try."

Throughout the process of writing and editing, I have more than once almost given up entirely, and the lows and highs of my characters really reflect my own emotions during that time. But, happily, I persevered, thanks in part to my two little editors, Steelsheen and Quellerûth, and finished what I started.

So now we have it, the result. Pretty much what I'm saying here is this: if you can't handle tragedy and really sad, heavy stuff, stop reading, because I can guarantee you won't like this (and I DON'T want my review box all trashed up!). But if you want to go on an emotional roller-coaster with one of our favorite heroes and get a sad but uplifting ending, by all means, read on. I'm trying my hardest for you guys.

One more thing to note; I promise I'm almost done! This story is from a Christian worldview, and it will be a very God-centered fic (especially the last chapter). So if that offends you or anything like that, you have my permission to cease reading this right now. But really, you'll be missing out if you do! (And I won't go into the offending part...)

Thank you all for reading this. I hope to see what you think of my work!

Sincerely,

Dimfuin

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Note: There will be no set number of reviews for each chapter; no "quota" that must be reached. I will post one chapter every Monday, until the story is all posted. You may review however you like (ie: "Beat me! Kick me! I am yours."), but please refrain from rough language and do not attack me personally. Please keep in mind that I own nothing of Tolkien's and all of the Bible quotes come from the NIV version.

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Dedicated to Bethany, Steelsheen, Quellerûth, and my big brother, even thought he will never read this because Miss Éowyn dies.

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**This story is rated PG for mature themes and some violence.**


	2. My World Is Over

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A/N: I'm sorry this chapter is so short...they get progressively longer, I promise!

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Chapter One: My World is Over

_"My God, my God, why have you forsaken_

me?

Why are you so far from saving me,

so far from the words of my groaning?

O my God, I cry out by day, but you do

not answer,

by night, and am not silent."

-Psalm 22:1-2

The sun was just rising as my feet slowed to a stop. I had been running all night, and I didn't want to pause. But it was not weariness that made me halt. It was this place that I had arrived at.

Could a day be any more cursed?

Weeping freely (as none were around to see me) I sank down upon the short, rough grass and buried my head in my arms. My whole body began to shake, racked with sobs, but I didn't care. I wanted it.

My whole world was over.

Everything I had wanted, everything I had needed, was gone. Gone with the night breeze.

Éowyn, my beautiful wife, was dead.

The words were slow in surfacing, and when they did, I buried them again. It was unthinkable! My sweet innocent bride---my white lady---was gone. The one who had given me life again, the one who had swept away the dark nightmares and memories with a wave of her pale hand...dead! I sobbed harder, losing myself in the aching hole where my heart should have been. But she had taken it with her.

It was early evening when I had first heard the commotion. I was in my study doing several quick tasks before I retired for the evening to my family. I couldn't wait for them to be done with. Being the Steward was not, as it might seem to some, all fun and games.

Previously I had spent time with my oldest boy, Elboron (named for my brother, Boromir) and my daughter Morwen, teaching them a bit about the harp. They seemed interested enough in the instrument, and I believe it was the fact that their younger brother, Feomir, was naturally gifted on the harp that had spurred this sudden musical interest. I enjoyed teaching my children, and the hour and a half passed quickly enough. It was then that I retired to my study to sift through papers for an hour or two, with the promise that I would read to them before bedtime came around.

I can still remember as clear as day the shout that came from the gardens. It was high-pitched, mixed with fear and pain, and I would know it anywhere at all. My wife. In a bound, I was up from my chair and racing through the corridors toward the garden, praying all the way. A part of me was trying to convince myself it was nothing...she had probably stepped on a wasp or something to frighten her. But she would not scream like that for a wasp; I was sure of it.

With her scream ringing in my ears, I skidded into the garden and pounded toward a group of servants at the far end. It was then that the day ceased to be a day anymore, and turned into a nightmare. A long, long, nightmare.

"Move!" I cried, bowling over several servants. I broke through the ring and gasped. Éowyn lay on the ground, clutching Feomir to her breast. Her face was deathly pale, and on one hand I saw a red welt.

"What happened?" I breathed, kneeling next to her in the dirt. She was motionless. I reached out and touched my son, who immediately moved and looked up at me.

"I didn't mean to, Father!" he whimpered. At five, he was just a small thing. My head was spinning out of control, but I managed to nod and hold open my arms. He crawled into them, and I pressed his head against my shoulder. He did not need to see this.

"Well?" I asked again. One of the servants, a young man, pointed to a snake lying about five feet away. "It was killed," he said slowly. I squinted at the creature, trying to keep my panic at bay. It was a _Calengurth_, or "green death" in the common tongue. Very, very poisonous.

I gave short cry of dismay and looked down at Éowyn again. She was turning slightly green; I almost gagged. But in a flash, I handed Feomir to a servant and picked her up in my arms. I felt her body turning cold under my touch. They said a calengurth's bite took ten minutes to kill. Only ten.

"Éowyn, my sweet," I breathed as I hurried inside with her, "Stay with me. We need you here. I need you!"

Healers flitted in and out over the next twenty minutes. Éowyn held on for a long time, but near nine o' clock she opened her eyes and looked at me one last time.

"I love you," she gasped, barely audible. "Take care of the children for me."

And then Éowyn, Daughter of Kings, slayer of the Nazgûl, died.

All I remember after that was running. I was always taught never to run from pain, fear, or grief. But this was too much. So I ran.

And then I was there, in the ruins of Osgiliath. Efforts had been made to rebuild it, true, but the fact remains that it was still a ruin at that point in time. So many memories were bound up in that spot I had to stop. I had to sit---my legs just would not support me anymore.

Some people seem to think weeping will help grief. My uncle Imrahil is one of those people. "Just let it out," he would say. "Trust me! Let us see your grief, and we will share your burdens." But I know better. I know that no matter how hard you cry, how loud you wail, _nothing_ will fill the hole inside. And that is a fact.

It was only when I heard the bell tolling as the sun rose over the mountains that I stopped weeping. It was tolling for my Éowyn. And she was dead. Weeping is all very well and good, but when I realized truly that she wasn't coming back, real grief began. Real grief; what an odd thing to say. But it's so true. Real grief is knowing that nothing you do will ever set things right. Real grief is having no hope. Real grief is wanting---really wishing---that you were dead.

On that day and for many days after it, I felt real grief.

I do not clearly recall much of my visit to Osgiliath that morning, but one thing I remember:

"_What do you want, Eru? What is it? Do you want my life next? No, you are too cruel for that! You would not bless me with death. You wish to see me suffer, long and hard, and for that you must slowly take away the goodness in life. Well** fine**! Take it all away, see what you've made me! I don't care, do you hear? **I DON'T CARE**!!!!!"_

...To be continued... 


	3. Duty

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Chapter Two: Duty

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"...My brothers, I have fulfilled my duty

to God in all good conscience to this day."

-Acts 23:1

There are many emotions in this world, and many which will compel a man to do one thing or another. Love---which in my humble opinion is the strongest of them all---will lead a man to do amazing things for the woman he loves. Hate---a strong emotion as well---can take a man to extreme lengths. Sorrow---that too will drive one mad.

But nothing is worse than the sense of duty.

Nothing will eat away at your mind like duty will. When you know that you must do this or that, and it is your _duty_ to do it, there is no escape. It is the ultimate self-sacrifice; for duty is not done for yourself, it is done for others.

Duty is what drove me to give up music and literature for swords and strategies.

Duty is what compelled me to use every ounce of strength to become the best captain I could, and to live in Ithilien for all those years and fight the enemy.

Duty is what made me face my father after I saw Boromir in the boat and found the broken horn.

Duty is what made me take his curses and abuse whilst my own heart was bleeding to have my brother back.

Duty is what forced me to let the hobbits go, instead of seeing for _once_ the look of pride on my father's face.

Duty is what kept me going when I heard those fateful words telling me that my own father wished I was dead.

Duty is what made me take my soldiers out to try and retake Osgiliath, though I knew it was futile.

Duty is what made me come back to the pain and fear of the living world, though death beckoned to me with it's sweet calls.

And duty is what made me get off the ground and go back to my home in Emyn Arnen.

Truly, it is a cursed word.

But, cursed or not, I was driven by it. I am a slave to my duty, I suppose; I knew my children would need me in this, and, somehow, I must appear strong for them.

But I was not.

And somewhere, a little voice was telling me that I was finally experiencing what my father had gone through. _You never understood how he could be so bitter_, it whispered, _but now you feel the pull of fear and pain at your heart_.

When I returned to my home, I was met by the stares of servants. Some were pitying, some were sorrowful, some were shocked and dazed. As I looked at the face of a young girl I passed, I was astonished to see fear. Why should she fear me? Was I that frightening to look at?

I made my way to my room and looked at myself in the glass. Eyes: red; hair: a mess. My clothes were ruined as well. I quickly cleaned myself and changed clothes, then looked around.

What I saw stopped me dead in my tracks; pain like a knife slashing my heart overtook me. Everywhere I looked I saw Éowyn. She was in the covers on the bed; she was in the flowers on the table. She was in the artistically placed cushions and chairs. She was in the dresses hanging in the closet. I buried my face in one and breathed of her sweet and tangy smell like a man who is drinking deeply of water. _How could a heart so broken be fixed?_

It was not long until I realized I had to get out of there before I was driven mad. Then I remembered.

My children.

The aching for them exploded in my mind, and I was suddenly desperate to see their faces---feel their arms around me. I hurried to the door and flung it open, racing down corridors to get to my children's rooms.

As I approached their doors (Elboron and Feomir slept in the same room and Morwen was right next door) their nurse, Sililian, came out, shaking her head. As she looked up, her face was twisted into a frown.

"Poor things!" she sighed. "And you didn't even think of them! What kind of father do you think you are?"

My head was beginning to ache. This was too much! My wife was dead, and I had forgotten about my children. What kind of father _was_ I? I placed my hand on her arm. "Please, tell me where they are."

"They're all in there, bless their souls. Nobody has even told them!" she replied.

"Nobody _what_?" I repeated.

"Well, 'tisn't our place!" she snapped. "We didn't think their father would go running off into the blue yonder!" Then she must have seen the agony in my eyes and she quieted her tone. "Ah, but I'm sorry, 'Tisn't your fault. Please, my lord, I am so sorry about this."

I nodded, my throat starting to constrict. "Just stay out of the way for a while," I whispered. I pushed open the nursery door and licked my lips, preparing. No father should ever, _ever _have to tell his children the news that their mother is dead. As I stepped into the room, a scene from my past flashed across my visage.

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Two boys sat huddled on a bed, fear and confusion in their eyes. Shouts had been heard, voices were wailing. What was it all to mean? Where was their mother? Where was their father? The younger looked up at the elder and said gently, "What happened, Boromir? Why are they crying?"

The elder shook his head and wrapped his arms tighter around the small frame of the younger. "I don't know Faramir," he said, "but whatever it is, it's a terrible thing."

Suddenly, the door to the room was flung wide and the boys stared up into the face of their father. The elder rocketed off the bed, crying, "Ada! What's wrong?"

The man looked shocked, and there were rings around his eyes. He lifted the boy in his arms and set him on the bed next to his brother, putting an arm around each. "A terrible thing has just happened, my sons," he began. "You see...your mother, she's, she's..." he trailed off and buried his head in his son's shoulder. The elder patted him.

"It's alright, Ada. You can tell us," he whispered.

The man shook his head and sobbed out, "She's dead!"

I blinked and the scene changed back to the present. I was almost sad that it had...the past was unchangeable, and the future was all too uncertain. I glanced around the room and tried to summon a smile for my children; I failed miserably.

Morwen and Elboron sat on the window-seat, holding hands and looking up at me with big eyes. Feomir huddled in a ball on a chair nearby, his big blue eyes staring into my own gray ones. I gulped. My children needed me now, more than ever they had or probably would. The sheer dependency of them struck a chord in my heart and I knelt and opened my arms.

"Oh my children," I murmured as they hurried into my open arms. How I wished I could hold them forever! And how could I tell them? I knew this needed to be done slowly and delicately. The tears were beginning again in my eyes, and this time I did not stifle them. They dropped onto the bright heads of my children.

Oh Eru, if there's one thing in this world that I can be glad I had at that time---that dreadful time---it is my children. I do not know what would have happened to me if not for those blessed creatures!

Morwen was looking up at me, touching my face with her small hand. She resembled her mother a good deal, but it was not Éowyn's eyes staring up at me. It was my own. "Father?" she asked. "Father, what's wrong?"

It was then that I realized Morwen had never seen me cry before. I think it is a frightening thing, seeing one's father cry. Mothers are different, in their own way. When mother cries, it's distressing, but not terrible. When father cries you know the day has turned black.

I swallowed my tears then (a huge effort, but one I made for the sake of my daughter) and stood slowly, my children still clinging to me. "Come," I said gently, leading them over to a couch. Elboron (at twelve trying his hardest to be a man) sat next to me and crossed his arms. I saw his lip trembling out of the corner of my eye, and wondered just what he was thinking as he saw his father---the manliest of men in his eyes---weeping. Morwen immediately crawled into my lap and put her arms around my neck, and Feomir sat on my other side, leaning his head against my arm. I was silent for a time, stroking Morwen's hair and gathering my thoughts.

"You know," I began, struggling hard to master my own voice, "you know that your mother was ill."

The children nodded, and Feomir clutched my arm. I took a deep breath and went on.

"Sometimes, for no apparent reason, Eru decides it is time to take a person away."

"Take a person away?" Elboron asked.

I nodded. "It doesn't usually make sense to us," I said, "but Eru always has a purpose and plan. We often don't see it..." I trailed off and swallowed, then went on in a rush. "Well, for some reason Eru has decided to take your...your...mother away," I finished.

Dead silence in the room.

I looked around at my three children, trying to discern what their faces displayed. Elboron, usually the leader, spoke first.

"You mean she's, she's..." he began.

"Dead?" Morwen cried. I winced at the word and closed my eyes. "My mother is dead? NO!" For such a little thing, I never would have imagined Morwen could sound so loud. _Please, child,_ I was thinking, _do you not think I am going through enough pain as it is?_ But Morwen was nearly hysterical at this point. I rocked her gently, whispering words that I cannot recall into her ear to calm her. Elboron tried his best too, silent tears streaming down his face.

And through it all Feomir said not one word.

It was not until Morwen had screamed herself to sleep and was hiccuping softly in her bed that I noticed Feomir still seated in the same spot on the couch. I came over to him quickly and put my arms around him.

"She's really gone, isn't she?" he asked quietly. For a five year old, he was quite quick. I nodded.

"Yes, Feomir." I looked down, brushing a bang from his eyes. "You and I, we must bear the most pain, mustn't we?" I said this because I knew what my son was like; he was like me. Elboron and Morwen would both grieve long, but they were like their mother in that respect. Their grief was quick and harsh, coming wildly and sweeping them up with it; gone in a few months or years. They could wail and get it out. Never would they forget their mother, but their grief brought healing.

Our grief brought more pain.

Feomir and I, we could not show our grief and wail as others did. We could not lean upon another's shoulder and sob our heart out until it was clean again. Our agony endured inside.

And so I sat there, holding my son close to me and hoping we could accept the fate Eru had given to us.

Only time would tell.


	4. A Brother

To **The Girl in the Red Jacket**

Good luck with University there...I'm sorry if I'm hurting the learning process at all. But I DO know what you mean; I myself have trouble keeping my mind on schoolwork when in the middle of a good story...

To **Lady Elwen Iluvalatari**

Thank you for your long review! Yes, I am attempting to draw a parallel between their world and ours, in that sense. I wanted to incorporate certain themes into my story---you'll see which as it progresses. I also know that they did not worship Eru Iluvatar, but I needed a God for them to worship, and somehow I don't think Tolkien would have left them without one...so in short, I picked Eru to serve my purposes. By the way...if anyone can tell me how the people of Middle Earth were married, I will be very greatful, because that's always bothered me.

And no...as far as I know Calengurth isn't a real snake. I mean, it _might_ be...but I seriously doubt it, because I made it up:-D _Calen_ means green and _gurth_ means death. So yeah;-)

To **wader321**

Darn! That was a really good idea. If I was still writing the story, I would have used that:-( However, the story's all done now, and I can't change it. But thanks for the suggestion!

Many thanks to all my reviewers.

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Chapter Three: A Brother

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_"These things I remember_

as I pour out my soul:

how I used to go with the multitude,

leading the procession to the house of

God,

with shouts of thanksgiving

among the festive throng."

-Psalms 42:4

The funeral was scheduled for a week after she died, and immediately heralds went out. Eomer was, of course, summoned, and the nobility of Minis Tirith were all to attend. My uncle and kin in Dol Amroth were notified; plans were made all round to come.

Throughout that week and the next few to come, I walked and worked as a man in a dream. Well, more like a nightmare, I suppose. I did not sleep much at all, for sleep brought dreams. I have always been plagued by dreams, and I cannot recall having worse dreams in my life. Oh, they were very happy, filled with light and memories of my Éowyn, of course. But the pain of waking to the reality became so acute that I barely slept at all. I never touched the bed, and slept only on a couch in my library.

My uncle was the first to arrive. I could see the pain written all over Imrahil's face when he came through the door to my study, and he immediately clasped me to himself. I knew at once he was grieving more for me than for any other reason.

"Faramir," he said gently. "I'm so sorry."

I have always felt like a child when my uncle is near. In fact, he has the same effect on me that my father had, only in a different way. With father, it was fear and inferiority; with Uncle Imrahil it was vulnerability and sadness. And as he held me, tears rolled down my face. I couldn't stop them, nor did I want to. After that first day I had managed to keep my emotions held tightly inside of me, squished in there for when I was alone and I could weep when none would see. But I could always show my grief to my uncle.

"Uncle," was all I managed to whisper, and his arms hugged me tighter. "She was..."

"I know," he said, even gentler than before. "I know." I felt something wet on my head, and I realized I was seeing Imrahil cry. This---this I had never experienced. You must understand that Imrahil was not unfeeling, nor a man that did not have deep emotions. But he _never_ cried. I can just stretch my memory back to when my mother died and remember that he did not weep. When Boromir and my father died, he did not shed a tear. But now, when my world had finally collapsed, my uncle wept.

"What do I do?" I asked, pulling away slightly. "How do I piece back together a world?"

Imrahil sighed. "I felt just the same when your aunt died, Faramir. How was I to live once more?" He pulled me toward himself and put a hand on each of my shoulders. "Your children. Your country. The rest of your family. We all need you."

I shrugged. "Don't get too close, uncle. I seem to have a bad effect on my family. They're all dead."

I cannot describe to you the incredible sadness in my uncle's gaze at that moment, but I can tell you it was a mirror of my own eyes. He whispered, "Sweet Eru!" and pulled me to himself again. After a few seconds he let go and said, "Faramir, listen to me." I looked up at him. "It's not your fault, son. I don't know why, for Eru's sake I _don't know why _this is happening to you, but please, _please _let us help you. You can cry on our shoulders."

See what I mean about my uncle? But perhaps he is just more like Boromir in that respect.

What I would give to be like them.

The next to arrive were the King and Queen. Aragorn and I had always been friends, but never anything close. And Queen Arwen was beautiful beyond mortal's compare---except for my sweet Éowyn. I dreaded greeting them.

They entered the room quietly, dressed all in black. Arwen immediately came over to me and took my hands, unspoken pity in her eyes. She kissed my cheek quietly, whispering, "Met dim le." (We grieve with you.)

I nodded, replying, "Hannon le." (Thank you)

Aragorn also came over and shook my hand. His clear gray eyes were filled with sadness, and he said, "Do not blame yourself."

Do not blame yourself? Why did everyone say that? The answer came to me at once: _Because they know you, and they know you _are_ blaming yourself._ Nevertheless, I wanted to say, "And what do you know about blame? About loss? Well?!"

But I didn't. I simply said, "Thank you for coming, my King."

The next arrivals were Lothíriel and Eomer. This arrival was the greatest feared of all. Lothíriel was a wonderful woman (my cousin, in fact) but she was too...womanly? Any woman at this point was too womanly. Every time I saw their eyes they morphed into my beautiful wife---my dead wife.

I didn't even know they had arrived until Lothíriel came running into the room, flinging herself at me and sobbing. At that point I was beginning to grasp my emotions and come to grips with this (at least for the moment) and there had been no fresh tears for at least two days. At nighttime I would merely stand at the window and stare at the moon. If there was no moon, I turned my gaze to the sky and contented myself with that. Anyway, her tears fell onto my clothes and I struggled anew to keep my emotions in check.

"Oh cousin, cousin!" she wept, "I'm so sorry!"

I put my arms around her too. "Thank you, Thíri," I said. Her scent was beginning to irk me; it was too much like Éowyn's.

"We came as soon as we heard. Oh, I cannot believe it!" she whispered.

My senses were being filled with her. I couldn't push her away, but I couldn't stand to have a woman this close! "Yes," I gulped.

Mercifully, she pulled away somewhat and put a hand to my face. "You're taking this well, Far. I'm so glad to see that." Then she wiped her eyes a touch. "Where are the children?"

I gestured to the left. "In the nursery."

Lothíriel nodded and hugged me again. "I'll go to them. Eomer will be in soon," she went on. "He's taking it pretty hard." And then she left.

I sank into a chair, my legs unable to support me anymore. _Never again,_ I thought, _will I ever be able to touch a woman_.

I was still recovering when there was a knock on the door. I wiped my face and called, "Come in!"

I do not know exactly what I expected from Eomer. Perhaps I thought he would come in with accusations and threats. Perhaps it was a beating I expected. Eomer and I had never, I must say, gotten on. Because his sister was all I ever dreamed of did not seem to make us kindred spirits, but he saw how happy we made each other, and accepted me. I always secretly thought he looked on me as a weakling, and I was surprised when he took Lothíriel, my gentle cousin, as a wife. In any case, the closest we ever got to brotherhood was "Take care of my sister or I'll kill you."

The door swung open, and Eomer entered. He was dressed all in black, like the rest of us, and I was again reminded of his swarthy and tall stature. But something about him took my breath away, and I struggled to figure out what it was. He looked at me with piercing eyes and shut the door.

"Brother," he said, holding out his hand. I put mine into it and we clasped hands.

Brother. When was the last time someone called me that? I recalled briefly how I had struggled for so long after my brother and father's deaths. Just when I'd gotten over them and accepted them, another tragedy struck my life. How ironic. But...brother. I never thought of Eomer as a brother. I _was_ married to his sister, and he to my cousin, so we are truly brothers in all but blood.

"Eomer," I answered. "It's good to see you."

"But not for this reason," he murmured, seating himself on a stiff chair. He seemed ill at ease, as if he was not accustomed to formal matters. I wondered in my mind whether he found it difficult to accept a death so close that he could not avenge. In any case, he put a hand up to his brow and then looked at me, long and hard. "You have not slept," he finally said.

I shrugged. "I do not need it."

Eomer looked as if he would like to address that issue, but thankfully let it go. For a long time we were silent, and then Eomer leaned back. "Faramir," he began.

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Here it comes, I thought.

"I just want to tell you that...you were the best thing that ever happened to my sister. Without you she would have despaired and died," he finished.

I stared at him. Never, _never _had Eomer said anything so genial to me before. "Thank you," I said awkwardly. Then I sighed deeply. "Eomer, I think we got off on the wrong foot."

He managed a small grin. "I admit I was a bit reluctant to let my sister go."

I nodded. "And I never tried to be your friend either." Something twisted in my stomach, _Did she have to die for you to become friends?_ I asked myself.

But Eomer stood up and said, "Believe me, Faramir---I respect you more than any other man."

I stood too. _Can you make a brother out of this man?_ the voice asked. _Can you find comfort in each other?_ "I'm so sorry about..." I swallowed and tried to get the words out; I failed.

Eomer nodded, not needing to hear them. "She loved you more than life," he said. "There is nothing to regret."

Then we hugged...as brothers.


	5. To the Sky

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A/N: Thank you, Arlewen. Without you, I would have kept the "cape" instead of changing it to "cloak", and then we'd not only have a Superman Aragorn, we'd have a Superman Faramir too!

About the names: I do believe Elboron and Morwen are correct...I do not remember why Morwen is correct, I just remember that it is (Note: Don't trust my memory...I could be wrong. But I'm about 93 1/2 percent sure of her name...) Maybe they named her Morwen after Steelsheen, one of Eowyn's ancestors? Feomir I did make up myself, because Ha! there was no third child! In fact, I'm not sure there was a second child. Well, there might have been, but it's not recorded. So I needed a name, and I decided to blend both their names and that was what came out. I suppose if I was going to mix my husband's name with mine, I'd do it on the first, but don't think about it too hard.

After having written all of the dramatic closing chapters, this is _still_ probably my favorite one, because I believe in this one I get the closest to portraying his unfathomable grief the right way. I do not say I _did_ portray it it the right way, for that is pretty much impossible, but I do believe I got the closest in this chapter. If, after having read the other chapters, you have a different opinion, feel free to express it, because everyone has a different understanding of grief, and I'm interested in hearing yours.

* * *

**Chapter Four: To the Sky**

_"The fool says in his heart,_

'There is no God.'"

-Psalms 14:1

The day of the funeral dawned chill and bright, a wind sweeping in from the north and blowing before it a hint of frost. It was odd for early October, but I thought it fitting that the weather should be as cold as my heart was that day.

As I dressed and donned a heavy black cloak I suddenly wished with all my heart we had been peasants. At least they could mourn without all the pomp and show. They were not required to go through all the ceremonies and nonsense involved in a great lady's death.

My room was cold, and I shivered as I pulled on my gloves. I had dismissed my manservant the day she died; in truth I never needed him. I was perfectly capable of dressing myself (as I had for years before) and Éowyn was always the one to smooth out the wrinkles and fix whatever was askew. Now I had to do for myself.

With one final yank, the glove slipped on and I left the room for the great hall, where my wife lay in state. I had not seen her since she died, and I had been up all night, pacing, trying to prepare myself for this viewing. It was not until barely an hour prior that I felt I could handle it, and had begun dressing. No food would pass my lips that day.

My steps rang hollow in the great, empty palace. It was still very early, and the funeral would not officially start until nine o' clock. But I was going now, to the place where Éowyn lay, to see her first. The first time _had_ to be by myself, because I wasn't quite sure what my body would do when I saw her.

I reached the doors and nodded to the guards. "I wish to go in, alone," I said to them. They opened the doors, shooting sympathetic glances in my direction, which I ignored. Taking a deep breath, I stepped inside.

The doors clanged shut.

The candles flickered.

I was alone. With Éowyn.

I clutched the door behind me in a sudden panic, not willing to look or go forward. I should have prayed to Eru for strength, but I didn't. As far as I was concerned, Eru didn't exist. Throughout my entire life, I'd believed in him and prayed to him, asking that he'd help me through whatever trial I was currently going through. No more. If he _did_ exist, he was far too cruel to speak of, and was only there to hurt us.

Gradually my head went up, inch by slow inch. Éowyn's casket was in the center of the room, surrounded by candles and flowers and wrought metal tables, on which were set engravings of her. I took a step forward, ignoring the shaking of my body. It was hard to walk, trembling as I was, but I took another step, then another. When I was close enough, I reached out a hand and watched it shake up and down. Closer, closer...

And then I could see her pale, still, face. It was beautiful, even in death. For a moment all I saw were her eyes, looking at me and laughing; her sweet mouth puckered into a kiss; her hands clasping our newborn, and a cry was ripped from my lungs. It echoed through the empty hall, vibrating against the thick windows.

A cry of despair.

My legs would not support me any longer, and I sank to my knees next to her bier. I clutched at a picture that had been set up, drawing it close enough to see through the tears. She was standing on the steps of Meduseld, her eyes cold and clear. My brother had drawn this.

Sobbing, I curled into myself, the etching held in my hands. The floor was stone: cold and hard, like I wanted my heart to be, at that moment. But it wasn't! It was soft, and easily hurt. Oh, what I would have given to have a heart of stone! Then no matter what happened to me, I wouldn't feel it. I wouldn't care, because my heart would be unfeeling. I reached a hand up and gripped the side of the casket until my knuckles turned white, then hauled myself up and let go of the picture. It fluttered to the ground, face down.

My hand (still trembling) reached out and touched her face so, so softly. I smoothed her hair, so beautiful, away from her brow, and bent my head down until it was in front of hers. I pushed all thoughts of how cold she was out of my head and, as I kissed her, remembered how warm and alive she was the last time we had kissed. Then, pulling back, I said in a low voice that I did not recognize, "Éowyn, my love, I will never feel again. I will never love another, so that my heart will never be broken again."

__

What about your children? asked a voice from far away.

"I will love them," I said firmly, "But I _will not_ have my heart broken again!" The room was dead silent. I looked back at Éowyn and a tear slipped onto her cheek. As I reached down to wipe it away, I felt my heart still a tiny, tiny bit from the wild agony I had endured in the past week. A smiled approached my lips, and if it did not quite make it to them it can be overlooked.

Then I turned from my wife's body, striding out the door. I was ready.

At nine o' clock precisely, I stood inside the doors once more, this time with my children. Elboron and Feomir stood by my side, and Morwen was clasped in my arms. She had been sobbing uncontrollably, and I decided that, ceremony be hanged, I was going to protect my little daughter from this. We would see her together.

Elboron was crying silently, but it was Feomir who, as usual, I was worried about. He had not shed a tear yet, and from the dazed expression on his face, it didn't look like he was going to. I turned to him, bent down as well as I could with Morwen, and asked, "Feomir, are you alright?"

He looked up at me with eyes so like Éowyn's own. "Yes, father." I was about to press the issue further, when behind me I heard the King and Queen approaching. I squeezed his shoulder and turned to greet them.

Arwen looked positively devastated as she looked at the bier in the center of the room. Her beautiful face turned down and she stood in silent respect about six feet from the casket. Aragorn patted me on the back with a firm hand, he too silent. He left his hand on my back a bit too long, as if to say, "I understand, and I am here for you." I could only imagine what thoughts were going through his mind as he looked at the woman he had healed so many years ago.

Imrahil, Lothíriel, and Eomer came next, and behind them were the crowds of courtiers and family that were also attending the funeral. The first three stood next to us, tears streaming down every cheek. Morwen (in my arms) cried gently against my shoulder, and Elboron bowed his head. But we two did not weep. My tears had been spent earlier, and Feomir had not shed a tear yet.

The streams of people went on and on. We were required to stand there, but it was so hard to hear all of the mourners trying to comfort us. Morwen eventually quieted, and she stared behind me in silence, not being able to look at her pale mother. I watched the crowd with curiosity. Some were courtiers, dressed in finery; some were Kings and Queens; some were craftsmen (most of which left something they had wrought for her); still others were simple peasants. But I could see on all of their faces what the White Lady had meant to them. Many said simple things to me---"We will miss her more than I can say," or "She was always there for us." Some simply burst into tears, which said more than a million words.

As the day dragged onward and my arms began to ache from holding my eight year old daughter for hours without pause, the crowd began to thin out. I was just hoping that they would stop coming and I could finish the funeral when a crowd of fifty elves walked in. I had completely forgotten about the elves who, led by Legolas of Mirkwood, had started a colony in Ithilien. It was one of Éowyn's favorite things to do: talk to Legolas. I could see the deep, turbulent grief in his eyes as he drew close, and behind him walked two elves bearing a covered burden between them.

"Ello nin le, Legolas,(1)" (Greetings, Legolas,) I said as he approached.

He held a hand to his heart. "Faramir. Nin dim na ve ëar," (My grief is as the ocean,) he replied. Then he looked into my eyes. "We have crafted something for her, Gimli and I."

From behind the two elves bearing the burden stalked Gimli, tears streaming down his ruddy cheeks. "It's not half good enough, lad, but we wanted to honor her."

I managed to nod. "Thank you," I said as Morwen's head turned upon hearing her favorite "uncle's" voice. Legolas and Gimli took the bundle from the elves and set it on the ground. Reverently, Gimli lifted off the covering and stepped back.

The thing shone white in the candlelight, wrought from _Mithril _and gold. It was a frame, intricately designed, hiding many things in the curlicues. One was a tiny sword, welded to the frame, another a tall white flower bending in the wind. In the frame was yet another painting of her, but this one was so lifelike that it took my breath away. She was standing in the Houses of Healing, holding hands with a man. He was tall, with dark hair and black clothing...sweet Eru, it was me! I gasped and struggled to retain the calm I had possessed throughout the entire day.

"Hannon le," I breathed. Legolas and Gimli nodded silently. Gently, Legolas stepped up to the casket and set a single lily on Éowyn's breast, whispering, "Este esse mel, Nim Híril." (Rest in love, White Lady.)

The stream thinned then, and soon no one new was coming in. I looked at Aragorn, and he nodded. Now was the time. I gently set Morwen down, whispering, "I have to speak now, Wen. Alright?" She nodded, and Elboron put his arm around her. I stood and stepped toward the bier.

Refusing to look at the people, I took a deep breath and began. Funerals are done many different ways, but I had chosen this to be simple and short. There would be no sobbing; no wailing. There was no long speaking or remembrances of her deeds. I simply looked up and said, "In honor of the White Lady of Rohan, Slayer of the Witch-King, and Princess of Ithilien. Éowyn." I had written the verse earlier that week, and the tune just flowed from my heart. I do not remember it, but many tell me it was heartbreakingly sad.

__

To the sky from the earth in lofty flight,

From the hills so green in the blush of spring.

So away with thee shall I fly, shall I fly,

From this place to a land so far away.

Softly now with the dawn I will ride with the wind,

O'er the hills through the mist on the wings of thee.

Spirit fly, spirit fly

To the cloud up above

Spirit fly to a place beyond the sky.

Spirit fly, spirit fly to a place on high.

Softly now with the dawn I go with thee.(2)

* * *

(1)There is no direct translation of "Greetings" or "Hello" available in the elvish language; therefore I have taken the liberty of creating my own. "Ello nin le" literally means, "From me to you."

(2)Old American Folk Song


	6. A Loving Daughter

**

Chapter Five: A Loving Daughter

**

__

"Now instead, you ought to forgive and comfort him, so

that he will not be overwhelmed with excessive sorrow."

-2 Corinthians 2:7

The guest lingered for weeks after the funeral. I suspect some were being polite, some were truly sad, and others were afraid to leave me. Among the latter were my uncle, my cousin, and the King. I suppose they who knew my life story felt pity for me...but what good does pity do? Answer me, someone: what good does pity do?

You cannot bring back a loved one with pity. You cannot truly comfort anyone with pity. It is an empty emotion.

Eventually, the crowd thinned until my uncle was the only one lingering in Ithilien. I must say, I did not exactly wish him gone. It always _was _easier with him around. But it was Éowyn, if I recall correctly, who truly helped me get over my father and brother's deaths and come back to the real world. Further, she was the one who convinced me that I mattered to someone. Even Imrahil could not do that.

I spent a lot of time, in the weeks following her death, trying to come to grips with what had happened. I will not deceive you by saying that once the funeral was over I slowly came back to the "real world". I did not. There was a funeral always going on in my heart. In my waking hours the funeral music played over and over in my mind, and in my sleep the sight of Éowyn's face haunted my dreams. I was living, but living in hell.

I tried to throw myself into work, which was what had helped me forget in the days of my father, but I found I couldn't concentrate. I would begin looking over a parchment, and an hour later realize I had been staring out of the window the entire time. I was incessantly tired, but I never wanted to sleep. I was wise enough to know what sleep brought. Still, I dozed off in my study often, and sometimes in more public places. Once, after a particularly sleepless night, I felt myself sliding into slumber in the hallway to my children's rooms. I slammed myself against a wall immediately, holding myself up until I could get control again. As I leaned against the stone wall, I heard footsteps coming and straightened, forcing a normal look to my face. It was, of course, Imrahil. He looked at me curiously, but went on when I told him I was just going to my chambers. I then retreated and slept for an hour.

And still, I had not touched the bed.

Sometimes I would go into her room and look around. I had moved all my clothes out to my study (where I slept) and I had left the room perfect. No one but I had been in there since she died, and every so often I dusted and opened the windows to keep it smelling fresh. Once I opened the closet and, on impulse, sat among her dresses for half an hour, just burying my face in them and remembering.

All in all, the weeks went by slowly until the day Imrahil left. I found him in the stables upon hearing of his departure.

"Uncle?" I called, hurrying toward him. "Were you leaving without saying farewell?"

He turned to me with a smile. "Of course not! I was going to come as soon as my horse was prepared." He studied me---something a lot of people seemed to be doing lately.

"Well, thank you for coming," I said, holding out my hand. The next thing I knew he was crushing me to himself in a hug.

"Faramir," he said when we finally parted, "I'm so, so sorry, my boy."

I nodded wearily. "Yes, I know."

Imrahil put a hand on my shoulder and looked me square in the eye. "Faramir, I want to tell you something."

I nodded.

"The best way to conquer your fear and grief is to face it. Remember that, alright? And one more thing," Imrahil paused and shook me slightly. "The answer is not to harden yourself, it's to make yourself vulnerable. Everything happens for a reason. There was a point to this, but you just can't see it yet. Someday you will. Eru works all things out for good."

I barely suppressed a snort. "Eru does not care," I almost said. What I really said was, "You know best, Uncle."

Then for the very first time, I saw my uncle in a new light. Previously he had always been the rock in my life---the steady and predictable one who was always there. I had never thought of him as an old man. But there he was before me, with graying hair and bags under his eyes. And a new thought struck me: _I'm not the only one the tragedy attached to my life hurts._ It was an odd thought, and I blinked at him for a moment. Then I embraced him again. "Thank you, Uncle Imrahil," I whispered. "I will miss you."

He nodded and we pulled apart again. He squared his shoulders and muttered, "I don't know why it's you, Far. Why you have been singled out to taste life's bitterness, I don't know. I may never know. But I will always be here for you, son. Son..." he squeezed my shoulder as if emphasizing the fact that I could look up to him as a father. Then he pulled on his gloves and swung up onto his horse. "Goodbye, Faramir," he said. "I will return in a few months."

I nodded and stepped aside. "Thank you, once more, Uncle."

And then he rode away.

__

The best way to conquer your fear and grief is to face it...

I stood, staring at my bed. It was late at night, and I had been up, pacing. Three weeks after my uncle left I finally realized I needed to sleep, and accordingly I went to bed at a normal time and got up early. Dreams had plagued me, it's true, but I had trained myself to wake up and weep quietly for a few minutes. Then I forced myself to return to sleep.

But tonight was different. Lately I couldn't get that phrase out of my head, and it repeated over and over again. _The best way to conquer your fear and grief is to face it..._

I gently touched the coverlet on the bed. I don't know why I was so afraid of it...I could sit in the closet with Éowyn's dresses and live, but the thought of lying in the same bed as I had with her was just terrible. But Imrahil said...

Sucking in my breath, I shut my mind to everything else and slid underneath the covers. It didn't matter if they smelled like her; it didn't matter if the pillows were plumped just the way she liked them. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

And it was this way that I fell asleep.

I dreamed of darkness for a while...darkness inescapable, like we had talked of when we were both in the Houses of Healing. I saw fire and ash come to everyone, but I could handle that. I'd dreamed it before.

I dreamed of my children being slain before my eyes, one by one. They cried out to me in frightened whimpers, but that also I could handle. I'd dreamed it before.

I dreamed of Éowyn and her deep blue eyes that were so easy to get lost in. I dreamed of her hands in my own; of her hair enveloping her face and a tear trickling down her cheek that I could not wipe away, but still I could handle it. I'd dreamed that, too, before.

It was the last dream that I could _not_ handle. I sat, in a house, with my family. They were all there: Éowyn, Elboron, Morwen, Feomir, Denethor, Boromir, Finduilas, Imrahil, Lothíriel...it went on and on. No one looked dead---they were all happy and alive. As we chatted I looked out the window into the sunshine and suddenly there was a clap of thunder. I looked back into the room.

It was empty.

Not a soul was there, except for me, and I screamed in shock and fear. Then the roof was ripped off, and I stared up into the heavens as water droplets poured down on me. I screamed again...and then a low laugh started. I saw the clouds gather up and disperse again, and I knew who was laughing at me: Eru. This time I screamed for real.

Whatever you may be picturing about this dream---Eru laughing at me, the tempest rising---you are wrong. It was far, far worse than anything you can imagine. To have the creator laughing at you...it is the scariest thing on earth or anywhere else.(1)

Then I felt myself falling, and I raised my hands to shield myself...

WHAM!

I hit the floor of the bedroom hard, knocking me out of my sleep and into reality. I lay for a minute, gasping for breath, trying to decipher whether this was a dream of not. I could still feel the heat and air pressing down on my body, and the laugh rang loud in my ears. Shadows that looked like people scuttled in and out of the corners of the room. Then the dream wore off and I merely lay, shaking, on the ground. The blankets were wrapped around my legs and arms tightly, and pillows littered the room. My head was beginning to throb, and I realized I must have struck it on the floor when I landed. But I didn't want to move. The shadows were welcome compared to the frightful fury of the dream!

I would never sleep in that bed again, of that I was sure. NEVER.

"Father?"

I drew in my breath, unraveling myself with some difficulty and sitting up. Morwen stood there, staring at me with big eyes. She was wearing a white nightgown, and in one hand she clutched a soft doll. I shook myself somewhat fiercely and said, "Yes, Morwen?"

She ran forward and threw her arms around me. "You're frightened, father! You're shaking!" she cried.

I swallowed carefully and tried to still my body, failing miserably. "Morwen, why are you in here?" I asked.

She pulled back and looked at my face. "I heard you crying."

"But..." I trailed off and raised my eyebrows. "Your room is not within hearing distance, child."

Morwen looked a little abashed, but she lifted her chin and said, "I always come by at nighttime." She was a very truthful child.

"What?" I gasped. "Why?"

"Because," she said patiently, "I heard Sililian saying---"

"What did she say?" I interrupted.

Morwen took my hand in her small one and snuggled up to me. "Promise you won't get mad?"

I nodded. "Of course I won't get mad, darling."

"Well, she said 'I heard it from his old manservant, who heard it from Beregond: he weeps at night. Sometimes he'll wake up screaming, and sometimes he just starts out of his sleep. But he always weeps himself back to sleep. Poor, poor man.' So I wanted to see for myself. I came a week ago for the first time, and sure enough I heard you crying. I didn't come in, but I sat at the door until you stopped. Then I went back to bed. I always come now, at the same time. And most of the time you cry, and I put my head against the door and wait until you're done.

Well tonight you screamed so loud I had to come in and see if you were alright." She looked up at my face and asked, "Why do you cry, daddy?"

My throat suddenly didn't want to cooperate, but I hugged her close. "Morwen," I finally said, "I cry because..." my mind raced to come up with an excuse, but I finally decided upon the truth. "Because I miss your mother so much."

Morwen put her head on my chest. "I thought so." She was silent as she put her hand into mine. "Do you...do you think it would help if I slept in the same bed as you and kept you company like Mother used to?"

I knew that I shouldn't use my daughter as the answer to my problems, and it was on the tip of my tongue to say no, when she said, "I can't sleep nights either."

I kissed the top of my daughter's head before I replied. "You can sleep with me tonight, little one, but not every night."

Morwen threw her arms around my neck. "Thank you, Father!"

I stood with Morwen in my arms, and set her on the bed. Then I picked up all the pillows and blankets and put them back on the bed and crawled in next to her. She immediately snuggled up to me and whispered, "No more bad dreams, alright?"

I smiled to the darkness and answered, "No more bad dreams."

And there were no more than night.

* * *

(1)Alright, a small disclaimer here. Eru is laughing at Faramir in his dream...not in real life. God would never laugh at us...he opens his arms to us. The idea of God mocking and humiliating us is purely (PURELY) Faramir's imagination. Please keep this in mind;-)


	7. Confession

**Chapter Six: Confession**

__

"Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may

have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you."

-Colossians 3:13

I am not going to say that my nightmares ended after that night, for they did not. I still suffered from dreams dark and fearful (though none quite as bad as on the night my daughter found me). However, they became less and less frequent. Instead of every night they came perhaps three times a week, and then twice a week. After a while they were coming barely once a week. That sounds terrible, perhaps, but in reality it was not bad. I had six out of seven nights when I got a good rest.

Morwen slept with me at night a few more times, until I told her that she should go back to her bed. She was sad, I knew, but I made a solemn promise to her that if my nightmares should get extra bad again, I would rouse her. I am not quite sure I intended to keep that promise---I have never been known to break my word. But thankfully they never got that bad again, and I was able to keep my promise.

In short, my life seemed to be returning to acceptable. I could eat a healthy amount of food, and I was able to sleep soundly on most nights. Work consumed my time, and when I was not working, in Minis Tirith, or patrolling Ithilien, I spent time with my children.

The three of them got on remarkably well without their mother. True, they had a nurse, but nobody can ever, _ever_ replace a mother. I tried to be there as often as I could for them. I made it a habit of mine to come to their rooms at nighttime, and watch them sleeping for a few minutes. Their rooms (Morwen in one, the boys in the other) faced each other across the hall, and oftentimes Sililian left the doors open so they could be nearer to each other. I came in now and then, tucking in a cover here, brushing a kiss on a soft cheek there, and smiling as I observed my little children. My heart protested these nightly watches, chastising me for being too sensitive. _They can be taken from you in a snap_, it would wheedle. _Just like Éowyn. Do you wish your heart to be broken again?_ I would shake my head. _I am training myself,_ I argued. _If times of trial come again, I will be ready._ Perhaps I would have been, but most likely I would not have. I know this now, but maybe...maybe it was better for me to live securely in the make-believe game I played? I do not know.

On one of these nightly visits, as I came down the hall I could hear Sililian's voice floating across the air. She was singing a lullaby in her deep, soothing voice.

_Sleep, my child, and peace attend thee,_

All through the night.

Guardian angels God will send thee,

All through the night.

Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,

Hill and vale in slumber sleeping,

God, His loving vigil keeping,

All through the night.

All night, all day,

Angels watchin' over me, my Lord.

All night, all day,

Angels watchin' over me.

When I lay me down to sleep,

Angels watchin' over me, my Lord.

Pray the Lord my soul to keep,

Angels watchin' over me.

All night, all day,

Angels watchin' over me, my Lord.

All night, all day,

Angels watchin' over me, my Lord.

Angels watchin' over me.

Sililian looked up as the last words died away and smiled as she saw me leaning against the doorframe. "Don't you worry, my lord," she whispered. "They're safe as safe can be, bless their hearts."

I nodded, a lump rising in my throat. Éowyn used to sing that song to our children. I stepped into the room of my sons, staring down at their still faces. Feomir had one hand curled under his pillow, and with a half smile I pulled it out. Yes, it was clutching a book. _So like myself,_ I smiled as I gently closed the book and put his hand back upon the bed. I re-tucked him in and brushed some hair away from his face, then turned to Elboron. He lay on his back, legs wide apart. _He_ was so like his uncle I was oftentimes taken aback. Twelve really was much too young of an age to be acting like a man, but Elboron obviously thought it was his job to be mature for the younger ones. I smiled and kissed his forehead, feeling a bitter-sweetness as I did so. _He is not your brother,_ I told myself. _He is your son._

Then, turning, I walked back over to Sililian who was snuffing a candle that she had been using to sew with. "May I have a word?" I asked. She looked up at me quizzically, but nodded.

"What is it, sir?" she asked.

I clasped my hands behind my back, unconsciously taking a military stance. "That song you were singing...what was it?"

She smiled. "_All Night, All Day_, sir," she replied.

I nodded briskly. "Please, don't sing it anymore."

"What?" she asked, momentarily confused. Then she regained composure and added, "Sir."

"It is wrong to be filling the children's head with fiddle-faddle such as Angels," I said shortly. "They do not exist."

"Sir?" she asked. "How do you know?"

I eyed her sternly. "Sililian, angels and God do not exist. If they DO exist, they are most likely not on our side."

She shook her head, murmuring, "So it's true, what they said."

I cocked my own head. "I beg your pardon?"

"Nothing, my lord," she replied. "I will do whatever you wish."

"Good," I smiled. "Now, make sure they each have an extra blanket, so they don't catch a chill." And with that I went back to my chambers.

I can only speculate what might have been if what I am about to relate never came to my attention. I might have healed easier. I might have stayed bitter forever. Often I look back and wish I had never known, for pain and sorrow are bitter companions in the dark watches of the night. But I think---_I am sure_ that it was all for the best. I know this now, but I cannot even begin to describe how awful it was then.

A full six months after my wife's death I was visited by my youngest son, Feomir. I was in my office, working late as I was wont. It had just gotten dark, and a candle burned brightly on the desk, licking toward the ceiling and shedding light on my face.

Suddenly, I heard a gentle knock on the door, and I looked up to see my son peeking his head in. "Father?" he asked. "May I speak with you?"

I smiled and nodded. "Of course, Feomir."

As he entered, I was immediately aware of how agitated he seemed. His hands shook fiercely, and he kept casting his eyes toward the door. I laid my pen down and beckoned him to myself. "Whatever is the matter, Feomir?" I asked. "Are you troubled by dreams?"

He shook his head...then checked himself and nodded slowly. "Yes, father. Almost every night I dream the same thing."

Aha, so that was it. I had passed my curse on to my son. The poor lad. "What do you dream?" I murmured. If there was one thing that I was striving for, it was to be all the things my father was not when I was a boy. He was so like myself, my son, and therefore I, more than anyone else, knew how to be a good father to him. What I didn't think he'd do was burst into tears and cling to me like a wet leaf.

"You won't love me!" he sobbed. "You won't, you won't!"

I shushed him, rubbing his back and hugging him to myself. Not love him? What was the child raving about? I felt his forehead, but there was no fever. "Feomir," I said finally, "Whatever do you mean? You can tell me, son."

He shook his head against my chest, but gathered himself together and sat up. "I--I have to tell you, father. It's all my fault, and I've been keeping it inside ever since it...happened."

A feeling of dread took hold of me, something heavy and strong clamping onto my gut, but I ignored it and goaded the child on. "What is it? What did you do?"

"I killed her! I killed mother!" the words rang through the room as he buried his head in my shirt again.

I froze. The room regained an awful silence, and the only sound was Feomir's sniffles. Finally, I found my voice. "What?"

Dead. Quiet. My voice sounded like it came from the grave.

**__**

I am strong; I am leaving

I never knew I'd feel the need so

"Where to go? I'll turn the throw

I could not know," screams inside the burning pain.

The voice was familiar, and I welcomed it's rasping quality then.

He curled into himself and began to whisper, "The snake, the calengurth. I was playing in the garden, and nobody was there except mother and I. She was sitting in the grass, and I was picking flowers for her. Suddenly, the snake was there, and I froze. It was slithering toward me, ready to strike, when suddenly Mother screamed and grabbed me away. But she wasn't fast enough, and the bite landed on her arm. I---I killed her!" He was trembling all over, and I knew from my own experience that he had dreamed it vividly almost every night for the past six months. And something deep inside me said, _It's not his fault, the poor child._

Something which I, Eru forgive me, ignored.

I took a long, shuddering breath, and my hands fell to my sides. "Is that all?" I asked, again in the dead voice. He nodded, for the first time looking up into my own eyes with his own blue ones. I knew that he would be seeing nothing in mine...swirling shadows, maybe, or murky pain. But his displayed all of his emotions, because he had not been taught to wear a mask as I had. Fear. He looked at me in fear. Again, my heart told me that it was not his fault, and again (as in many days to come) I ignored it.

"Goodnight, Feomir," I whispered, and he climbed off my lap, still looking at me.

"I had to tell you, Father. I'm sorry...was I wrong to tell you?" he whimpered, backing away.

I managed to shake my head. "Goodnight," I said again. And then he was gone. I was only vaguely aware that my hand had spilled the inkwell all over my documents as I raised myself to a standing position. The room spun around me, but I forced myself out of the little room and into the halls, leaning on the cold stone of the building for support. I wasn't sure where I was going until I found myself outside in the garden, and thence at Éowyn's grave. My knees gave way of their own accord, and I almost fell on top of the stone slab that marked her resting place.

_Here lies Éowyn, daughter of Kings_

Slayer of the Witch-King of Angmar

Princess of Ithilien, Wife of Faramir,

Prince of Ithilien and Steward of Gondor

Este esse mel, Nim Híril.

Underneath was engraved a tall white flower swaying in the wind, and these words:

__

Spirit fly to a place beyond the sky.

Spirit fly, spirit fly to a place on high.

Softly now with the dawn I go with thee.

Sobbing for the first time in many a day, I curled up with the tombstone, my fingers tracing and retracing the cuts in the cold, hard stone. And as the night wore on, I felt a tiny seed being planted in my heart, one that I could have stopped if I had wanted. But I did not want to stop it, for it brought a small shelter and comfort of its own.

Hate.

**_It's spinning heads; it's underhand---the Black Flame_**

And miles ahead I turn and I run---the Black Flame

On me it fed---I understand the Black Flame

Burns my blackened brain.

Rest in love, White Lady.

Excerpt from _The Black Flame_ by Renaissance.


	8. Just Like My Father

**A/N:** Ok, here I have NO CLUE what to say, but I'm going to say it really fast and then hide from your collective wrath. I'm-sorry-I-left-you-all-hanging-for-so-long-at-the-most-exciting-part-of-the-story-and-neglecting-to-post-ANYTHING-at-all-for-over-a-month!!!! Dives behind couch

Is it safe yet? Whew! I really am very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very sorry! (There, that was my penitence:-) I promise I will try not to ever, EVER leave you all hanging that long again! And a special apology to all who reviewed this so many times since I took my little coughvacationcough asking me to PLEASE post again. I hate to say it, but I probably would have just forgotten about this story entirely if not for them. Sooo...good job, guys:-)

There are twelve chapters and an epilogue to this story, so we're a little more than half-way done. So hang tight, try to remember the story up to here, and here we go!

(Btw...NICE JOB staff! The new format for posting is AWESOME:-)

**Chapter Seven: Just Like My Father**

_"I am like a deaf man, who cannot hear,_

_ like a mute, who cannot open his_

_ mouth;_

_ I have become like a man who does not _

_ hear,_

_ whose mouth can offer no reply."_

_ -Psalms 38:13-14_

I bet you think my life returned to how it was just after my wife died, don't you? I must admit I half expected it to myself. But I think my heart had learned a lesson, and it had found a way to take each new complication with ease. How could it not? I had lost so many dear people in my life, I was beginning to get numb. I would not have wished my life on my worst enemy.

My first thought as I walked slowly back to my house after my long night vigil at Éowyn's grave was, _Now I know how my father felt. Now I understand how he could have blamed me. _Only perhaps there was more cause in Feomir's case. But he had been playing around, and how could he know there was a snake there? Éowyn merely realized the danger, and he didn't. After all...he was only five.

But my heart would not listen. It kept repeating over and over, _Just like my father, just like my father..._

Just like my father?

What was the one thing I swore I would not be?

Just like my father.

That morning, a crucial decision had to be reached. Would I follow in his footsteps, or would I take the high road and forgive and forget? Did my heart still have the choice? Was I capable of it?

That morning, the shy was dark.

That morning, I decided I was not capable of it.

Feomir, my son, forgive me for my choice. Éowyn, my sweet jewel, forgive me. Boromir, my brother, forgive me, and Elboron, my Boromir look-alike, how could I put you in the impossible position my older brother had always been in? How? I am just a man full of regrets, my son.

Eru, God of all and maker of the universe...may I hope to be forgiven for what I did.

* * *

Time wore on. I told Feomir that there was no difference in my love for him, and we made a truce, but I was merely adding a lie to my list of wrongs. There was a difference---a very large one. I know Feomir saw and felt it, and eventually, others did too. But I am getting ahead of myself. The day after my son visited me I took Elboron out for a little shooting practice. He was not as astute at it as I had hoped he would be, and, again, I found myself thinking of Boromir. I had always bested him when it came to bow and arrows.

"Watch, Elboron," I said gently, pulling my bow back. "See how it arches into a fine curve? You must take a deep breath and exhale as the arrow is released, almost as if the arrow were a part of you that is being flown away on the wind. See?"

My son watched with a hopeless expression and nodded. "Aye, I can see when you do it, father. But when I do it, it is a totally different thing!"

I smiled (losing myself in the fine day and the fluidness of the weapons) and put my arms around him, helping him hold the bow up. "Now, move your hands along with mine," I said. We raised the weapon, fitted the arrow to it, pulled it back to his ear, and let the arrow fly. It went somewhat askance, but at least hit the target. "There," I said, "how was that?"

"Easier with you," he replied. I tousled his hair and handed him another arrow.

"Try again," I said, seating myself on the ground. "Always remember that nothing comes easily without practice."

He nodded, his small form intent on shooting the arrow. I frowned as I watched him---standing all wrong---let the arrow loose. It hit the outer ring of the target with a crooked motion. "Good," I smiled, though it really was not. He dropped the bow and sat beside me.

"Can we practice sword-play now?" he asked hopefully.

I shook my head. "No Elboron. You excel at that. This, on the other hand, you do not excel in. So..."

"Alright, alright," he sighed. He lay back in the grass, putting his hands behind his head and squinting up at the sky. "Father?" he asked.

"What?"

"Is there a God?" he murmured.

I was taken aback. My son had never asked such a deep question before; at least, not for a very long time. "Does this have anything to do with your mother?" I wondered. He nodded.

"Where is she?"

It was a question I had asked myself a million and one times, and I did not have an answer to it. I looked aside at my son, and I knew I could not lie to him. "I do not know," I answered. "I do not know if there is a God. I thought I knew, once."

"What happened?" he said, sitting up on his elbows and looking at me.

With a sigh, I pulled his bow to me and began running my hands over it. "A lot of things have happened to me, since I was young," I said. "So many people have died."

"Why father? Why did they all die?" he asked.

"I don't know!" I snapped, then hung my head. "I'm sorry, my son. Truthfully, I don't know why they died. That is why I don't think there is a God. Or if there is one..."

"What?" he urged.

"Then he has some terrible purpose for doing this to me. To us." I sighed again, and handed his bow to him. "All I wanted was for you to have a mother; an uncle; a grandmother. Why this has been denied to you and I, I don't know."

Elboron was quiet for a minute and I watched as his eyes sought out the flowers in the grass. "Sililian believes there is a God."

I stiffened. "Oh?"

"Yes. She tells us about him all the time, and she says he watches over everything and has a plan for everything. When Morwen asked her to sing that song she sings at night, she said she wasn't allowed because you didn't want her to, but that it was a good song anyway."

"Indeed," I replied. "Well Sililian and I will have a talk."

He looked up at me and said gently, "Don't be harsh with her. It's not her fault; she was raised that way."

I smiled vaguely. "I suppose so." Then I stood, picking up my large bow. "Well, let's get back to work."

Elboron and I shot for a while longer, and then I heard a soft step behind us. Turning, I saw my other son standing there, holding a small bow. He looked up at me fearfully, fingering the string on his weapon.

"I--I thought maybe I could practice too," he said.

I hesitated. Five really was too young to begin practicing on the bow. Maybe sword practice and training on a horse, but a bow? "Where did you get that?" I asked, nodding at the bow.

Feomir blushed slightly, looking down. "I found it in the arms closet, behind a stack of other weapons."

Memory flooded back to me, and I realized where we would have gotten a bow that small, made for a five year old. My father had had it made for me, and I had trained with it. I took a shuddering breath, remember how even at that young age I had striven to be good at it. "Yes, yes of course," I murmured. The child was trying to make it up to me. Mist clouded my eyes, but I blinked it away.

"Feomir, you are too young," I said gruffly, more gruffly than I meant to be. He bit his lip and turned away. "Wait!" I cried.

He turned back, and I saw myself so clearly depicted in those eyes (his mother's eyes) that I was about to take him in my arms when suddenly a voice whispered, _What right has he to possess her eyes? _

I shrank away from him, shaking my head. "G-go inside," I muttered. "And put the bow away."

Feomir nodded, and a tear trickled down his cheek as he hurried away. I closed my eyes and took deep, gulping breaths until Elboron touched my arm.

"Father?" he asked, his amazement betrayed through his voice. "What is it?"

I shook my head. "We're done here," I whispered.

Late into the night I pondered what had made me act so roughly with my son, and it was not until the wee hours of the morning that I drifted off.

With no answer to settle my mind.


	9. A Visit

**A/N: **I want to thank you all for being so patient with me! I'm so sorry about this posting thing. I _used_ to be so consistent! I guess my life went haywire, or something. 8-D Anyway, to make up, I'm double-posting, so you can get as much phsycotic Faramir as you can handle! And don't forget to review. So far in all of my posting days, I have never gotten flamed, so...if you want to, you can, but I'll probably just delete it. (Is that an option?) Ok, rambling here...

**Chapter Eight: A Visit**

_"He has broken my teeth with gravel;_

_ he has trampled me in the dust._

_ I have been deprived of peace;_

_ I have forgotten what prosperity is._

_ So I say, 'My splendor is gone_

_ and all that I had hoped from the Lord.'"_

_ -Lamentations 3:16-18_

A very wise man once said, "To err is human, but to forgive is divine." What a pearl of wisdom that is! You, reading this, may not believe it is very hard to forgive at all. What can anyone have done to you that is so awful you cannot forgive them? Or perhaps you do understand me, perfectly well. If so, we are kindred spirits. How many nights have _you_ lain awake, pondering and trying desperately to bend your will to what you wish it to do? How insufferable it is! How the flesh cries out and fights with all its might to be free of the restraints of good and upright conduct! Yet in losing that battle, you have lost more than you could ever imagine you could lose.

Not long after my son told me about his part in my wife's death, my Uncle Imrahil came to visit us again. I always treasured his visits, because I really had more in common with him than with anyone else. He too had lost his parents when he was young, and his sister (my mother) had died. So had his wife. I looked on him as a father, because he was the only one I had ever known.

We greeted in a tender manner, clasping hands and shoulders. He hugged me in a strong embrace, smiling as he said, "You look good. Have you been sleeping?"

I nodded. "Yes. The ghosts do not haunt me as often as they used to."

"That's good," he sighed. "And how are the children?"

"Doing as well as can be expected without a mother," I said. My mind immediately flew to my recent discharge of Sililian, who had been replaced by a gentle and quiet woman named Sheena. I had told her upon meeting that she was not to encourage belief in God or angels or other nonsense, and she had nodded meekly with a quiet, "Yes sir."

My mind snapped back to the present as my Uncle said, "And all goes well in Ithilien?"

I nodded again. "After fifteen years we should be making progress, don't you think, Uncle?"

"Aye," he laughed. "And the King has put his trust in the right place." I allowed a small, quiet grin to take over my mouth, and Imrahil murmured, "A smile. Haven't seen one of those on your face since...well, a long time."

With a sigh, I turned toward the window and walked over to it, my hands clasped behind my back. "And how is Dol Amroth?"

"Better than ever. But I am getting too old for it, I fear," Imrahil said.

"Never," I replied absently, watching as Morwen and Feomir played in the grass. It was after school and they were allowed to roam free over the estate. I quickly opened the window and called down to them. They looked up and waved. "Be careful," I called, and they nodded. Feomir looked up in fear for a minute, but upon seeing my pleasant look he grinned.

"Don't worry, Father!" he yelled. "We'll just stay here."

I nodded and began to close the window. As I did so, I felt a soft hand on my shoulder and looked back to see Imrahil (who I had completely forgotten about) smiling at me. His eyes crinkled in the corners, betraying his age and care. "You cannot always keep a reign on them, Faramir," he said. I shrugged.

"While they are under my care, I will watch over them," I replied. "Now, shall we continue on-"

A shriek cut off my words, and I instantly bolted to the window. Morwen was cowering away from something, while Feomir was grabbing a large stick. I needed to see no more; in half a second I was out the door and down the hall. I made the garden in record time, catching a glimpse of Feomir delivering a last blow. I dropped to my knees beside Morwen, who instantly sprang towards me and caught hold of my neck. "Shhh," I soothed, stroking her hair. "It's alright, child." I looked at Feomir questioningly, and he shook his head.

"It wathn't a thnake, Father," he lisped, trying to keep his lip from trembling. The boy was just like me in the fact that he lisped when frightened or excited. "It was only a beetle."

I breathed a sigh of relief and patted Morwen again. "You see?" I soothed, "it wasn't a snake."

She shook her head. "I thought it was the snake that killed Mother! I thought it was going to kill me too!" She clung to me, unconsciously holding my neck in a death grip. Half choking, I managed to pull her off and pick her up.

"Hush, Morwen. There is no danger," I whispered as I took her inside. When I reached her room I found Sheena finishing the final touches on a sock. She sprang up and reached for Morwen.

"What happened?" she asked, and I caught the note of fear in her voice, as if she thought I might blame her for what happened. I shrugged her off and set Morwen on the bed. The child was practically in hysterics, and I immediately sent Sheena for a healer (without the information she had requested).

It was only after the healer had calmed her to sleep and pulled me aside to tell me that she was going to be fine, but needed rest and care that I noticed my Uncle again. I wiped my face with a crooked grin and leaned against the wall where he was standing. "Sorry Uncle, just a little bit of excitement."

He shrugged. "It looks like you've got a case on your hand."

My smile fell. "Yes. Morwen has nightmares too, and I know of all the children, she is the one who misses her mother the most."

My Uncle hesitated. "Perhaps she wonders what happened to her mother?"

"Hmm?" I replied. "She knows what happened to her mother. She-"

"No, perhaps she wonders where she is. They all do, Faramir. You need to tell them, reassure them." He looked at me searchingly. "And you need to tell yourself."

I crossed my arms. "Imrahil, must we go into this? I have settled my mind, and there is no going back. You know what I think."

He shook his head. "Your father said the same thing, Far. He couldn't understand why your mother was taken from him. But there are some things that just aren't explained!"

"Well, there are a lot in my case," I bit out. "Perhaps you'd like to tell me why I was abused?"

There was silence. I had never brought up the subject of my abuse before in my life. Been questioned about it, yes. Had a conversation and got the emotions off my chest, yes. But I had never started the conversations.

Imrahil sighed. "Faramir, I am not Eru, nor do I know everything. But you can be sure-"

"Oh yes?" I exploded. Quickly, I rolled up my sleeve and showed him the marks of the whip. "I have borne these since I was ten. Give me one good reason for them, and I will listen to whatever you have to say."

Imrahil shook his head. "I do not have one."

I nodded, and the strength flowed out of my body in an instant. I sagged against the wall and wiped my face again. It was then that I saw my son standing in the doorway, and I straightened immediately. "Feomir?" I asked, "How long have you been here?"

He bit his lip and whispered, "Since you came in." Then he burst out passionately, "What did Grandpa do to you, Father?"

I felt tears swelling in my eyes, but stubbornly refused to let them fall. I had never intended my children to know about any of this, and here it was pouring out like a rich stream of blood. I was on the verge of telling him to go to bed when Imrahil said gently, "Feomir, there was a time-"

"Imrahil!" I snapped. He immediately stopped and raised his eyebrows at me. I turned to Feomir.

"Go to bed, Feomir. It's late and you need your sleep," I said, making my voice as gentle as I could. Incidentally, it was not very gentle. As he obediently turned to leave, I added, "And do not take your sister into the garden anymore. She is frightened of it."

When Feomir had left, Imrahil turned to me. "What was that all about?" he asked. "The boy did nothing wrong! And why should he not know about your past?"

"For the same reason a colt is not shown a whip," I sighed. "He will learn in good time."

Imrahil looked as if he wanted to say something very much, but he shook his head and turned away. "The only way I have been able to keep from becoming bitter," he said, "is by placing my trust in Eru. I pray that you will do the same." Then he left to find some rest.

I stood in the little room a while longer, gazing out at the moon, and only one sentence broke the absolute silence before I left.

"Then you are a bigger fool than I thought."

The next morning found myself in the great hall pouring over several maps of Ithilien and muttering aloud. Little rest (a thing I have, you no doubt know, long been used to) had found me the night before, but I felt abnormally alert and alive. Perhaps my spat with Imrahil had enlivened me.

I was just tracking a likely course through a thicket of trees in Northern Ithilien when I heard a step behind me. I have a knack for recognizing people that are close to me and their various walks, coughs, and snorts, and so it was with no difficulty that I was able to say (without turning), "Good morning, Uncle."

Imrahil chuckled and stepped up to the table. "Too long a Ranger, Faramir."

I smiled to myself and asked, "Did you have a good sleep?"

"No," he replied, then hesitated. "I was beset with guilt. I came here to apologize for the things I said last night...they were unnecessary." He cleared his throat and went on: "I come to encourage and console you, and I can only blunder."

I threw my pencil down and turned to look at him. "No Uncle, don't say that. You are a great comfort to my family and I. And all is forgiven."

He smiled and laid a hand on my shoulder. "You are doing a fine job of raising the children."

Maybe the sunlight was playing tricks on me, but I could have sworn I saw a tear trickle down his weathered cheek. But when I looked again, it was not there, and I dismissed it. "Shall we breakfast?" I asked, and we left the room and the maps and the apologies to themselves.

* * *

William Shakespeare

* * *

Real quick-who else loves Imrahil? ME! 


	10. My Last Friend

**Chapter Nine: My Last Friend**

_"Their venom is like the venom of a snake,_

_ like that of a cobra that has stopped its_

_ ears,_

_ that will not heed the tune of the_

_ charmer,_

_ however skillful the enchanter may be."_

_ -Psalms 58:4-5 _

_"Wake up, sleepyhead," a golden voice laughs, and I feel gentle hands brushing hair from my eyes. I blink at the sunlight streaming in through the windows and yawn._

_ "What time is it?" I ask, feeling an unnatural weariness possess me. She laughs again. _

_ "Almost nine o' clock in the morning. How many times have you slept in before, oh wise one?" she jokes._

_ I smile to myself. "Not many," I respond, and she snuggles up to me. _

_ "Well, you deserved it today. I believe you are still chilled from riding all night in the rain," she admonishes gently._

_ "I had to...I could not allow the troops up north to go without another day's instructions," I yawn, stretching my arms and pulling her closer. In truth I am quite warm and comfortable, if a little sore._

_ She shakes her head against my shoulder. "You must learn, Faramir, that you cannot always sacrifice yourself for others. You need your health." She stops speaking, and I smile down into her golden head. I close my eyes and relish the joy of being with my wife._

_ "Besides, the new baby will need a healthy father."_

_ My eyes fly open and I sit straight up. "What?" I gasp, looking at my laughing wife. She leans back against the pillows with a coquettish air._

_ "Simply what I said, love," she smiles. "Another is on the way."_

_ Bubbles are rising in my chest, and I cannot contain a laugh. "Three, oh Wyn, three!"_

_ Her deep blue eyes sparkle out of her face and she nods. "Three, the perfect number."_

Morning sun hit my face and I opened my eyes, blinking in the cool spring air. The birds were just awakening, and I methodically yawned and got out of bed, throwing a shirt and belt on and walking over to the window, which I flung open. My dreams had been growing more and more vivid, and I realized that they centered more and more around Feomir and the impact he had made on my life. One might assume I was uncomfortable with the dreams, but on the contrary, I enjoyed them. They were always happy, always heralding to me what joy Feomir had brought Éowyn and I. And besides, I had long since stopped caring what I dreamed. Dreams are a form of what the heart really wishes and desires, and I knew that to give into my dreams would be to give into my heart. And that was not acceptable.

As I finished dressing, donning my normal hauberk and boots (slipping a knife into them as I always did) I pondered the lesson with my children that I had conducted the day before. All had gone exceedingly well, except at the end when Morwen spilled her ink bottle. I could not be angry with the child, for she did not mean to do it, but I did tell her to be more careful in the future, for she had spilled it all over her work and her brother's. Feomir had looked up at me as if expecting a rebuke. _Why does he do that?_ I wondered as I splashed my face with water. _It is not as if I am in the habit of reprimanding him unnecessarily!_ Was the child so keen he could see into my heart and note the slight recoil I always gave when near him? I had tried so hard to stop that, but it was nigh on impossible. I told myself that it did not matter, and besides...it was an affair of the heart, and I must quench that. But it had persisted, though I hid it as well as I was able.

My thoughts still jumbled, I strode out of the room to seek my sons for our early ride.

Imrahil had left not a week ago when (on that same day after I'd had my dream) I saw a lone figure riding across the hills and smiled. Mithrandir. I could always tell when it was him, for he was always in dazzling white. His steed, as well, was beyond compare, and one would be able to identify Shadowfax from miles away.

At noon he reached the gates of my estate and I welcomed him in as he dismounted. "Still traveling to and fro, Mithrandir?" I smiled.

He nodded breathlessly and patted Shadowfax. "Wherever he takes me, I go. Isn't that right, old friend?" he asked of the horse. Shadowfax snorted and pawed the ground, and I signaled a stable boy, who came forward and bowed.

"Give the Maeras our finest stall, and see that he wants for nothing," I commanded. The boy nodded and hurried away, and Mithrandir followed me toward the house. I noticed him looking at me, as if trying to asses something, but I ignored it.

"You still look young, my boy," he said, laying a hand on my shoulder. I laughed.

"Though I am not," I replied. "But you too, look good Mithrandir...though I suppose a wizards always looks in the peak of health." We paused in conversation as we entered the house, and I led him to a room with a fire and chairs in it. "The wind still bites, though it is Spring," I smiled, seating myself.

He nodded, and suddenly he leaned forward in his chair and looked me in the eye. "Faramir, my boy, I am sorry."

My heart clenched as it had not for months, and it took me a minute to grasp control and say, "Thank you." Mithrandir saw and his wise eyes clouded over for a minute. "I regret deeply that I was not here, Faramir. It was not until a month ago that I even heard."

I nodded and began studying the fire intently. When my Uncle talked of her death, I was not afflicted. When the King spoke of it, my heart did not jump so. But Mithrandir...well, he had always had the unique ability to bring out the emotions held deep within my chest. But I fought against it, this time, with every ounce of strength. I had trained myself strictly to be unaffected, and I was NOT going to revert to the old days. Suddenly, I wished Mithrandir had not come.

Luckily, he sensed my dilemma, as usual, and he changed the subject. "And how are the children?"

What was this? Every single visitor I had followed the strict conversation line: first tell me they are sorry, then inquire after the children. I sighed inwardly and smiled outwardly. "They are doing well, I believe. Morwen suffers nightmares, but other than that, they are fine."

"Does Elboron still look so similar to your brother?" the wizard asked, a twinkle lighting up his eyes. I nodded with a grin.

"He does indeed. And he exemplifies his personality as well...and his skill with a sword," I replied.

"Indeed. And Feomir?"

I hesitated. _He looks like his mother,_ I thought. "Well, he has not yet started with the bow, and only just begun the sword," I replied. Mithrandir nodded.

"I was referring to how the lad is doing without a mother," he said gently. I shrugged.

"The same as them all. He sleeps well, which is more than can be said for Morwen," I answered.

Mithrandir's bushy eyebrows furrowed. "The boy is more like you, is he not?"

"I suppose," I replied evasively. I was not sure why I did not want Mithrandir to ask me these things, only that I did not.

He seemed to get the picture, and with one last searching look, he dropped the subject. It was not until we had talked of random things for half an hour that Feomir and Morwen came scurrying in.

"Mithrandir!" they cried, jumping up onto his lap. He smiled back at them and said playfully, "Oh, don't push an old man so! You're liable to make him lose the treats he brought!"

At the mention of treats, Feomir and Morwen became as still as mice and looked up at him expectantly. "My, you've trained them well," Mithrandir winked at me, and I laughed.

"You can count on me. Morwen, Feomir...look in the _left_ pocket," I advised. "He always favored that one."

The children dove forward, and before long their small hands were full of treats and goodies. "Now scamper off," Mithrandir smiled, and they tumbled off his lap.

"Thank you, Mithrandir," Feomir and Morwen said dutifully, and then they turned to go. I watched them running out with a half smile.

"Oh Feomir?" the boy paused and tuned around with a slightly frightened air. My face may have been sterner than I wished it; I do not know. "I want you to make sure you finish that poem, son. I will not have laziness in this family."

Feomir nodded and then scampered off with Morwen. I then turned back to Mithrandir and resumed talking with him, and I did not realized until later that night that Mithrandir had stared at me for a long, long time after Feomir had gone.

Mithrandir stayed for two weeks, in which time he had much opportunity to observe our family and how it worked, and I know he did not like what he saw. I was becoming more and more strict toward Feomir, I am sorry to say, and less and less toward my other children. I did not TRY to do so, but it seemed that every time I wanted to say something to Feomir something completely different came out. Worse, I knew that Elboron and Morwen were beginning to notice it too.

After everyone had gone to bed one night, as I worked by candlelight, I heard a knock on my door and set down my pen. "Come in," I called.

A white head poked itself inside and I smiled at Mithrandir. "What brings you to my study so late, friend?" I asked.

By his stance and manner I soon realized that it was something serious, and my guard went up. "I come to speak with you on a matter this is pressing upon me," the wizard said, shutting the door gently. "May I sit?"

I nodded and gestured to a spare chair. He sat, but within thirty seconds he was up again and pacing. My heart knew what he had come about, but I refused to listen and asked, "What is it?"

Mithrandir turned and looked me full in the face. "Tonight, something has come to my full attention."

I sighed and leaned back. "Yes?"

He put a hand on my desk and leaned forward. "Faramir, what is become of you? You are turning into something I _know_ you are not. What did Feomir do?"

My mind was thrown back to supper and what had happened then. Feomir, in a five-year-old way had spilled his milk, and I had given him a five minute lecture on it. It was unnecessary, and I should not have been so harsh. But I shrugged anyway. "He spilled his milk. He is old enough to know better."

"Everyone makes mistakes Faramir!"

"Look, Mithrandir, if you're so upset over a glass of spilled mi-"

"It's not ABOUT milk, Faramir!" Mithrandir cut in. "It's about all I've seen over the past two weeks. The way you are curt with the lad, and punish him without reason. He's only five, and yet you treat him as if he is ten! You of all people should know better than to do such things."

My mind immediately jumped to accusations; what my heart did I do not recall. "Imrahil sent you, didn't he?" My eyes narrowed, and I stood. "Or perhaps the King? You are all spying on my family, trying to find some way to make my life even more miserable!"

"What nonsense!" Mithrandir snapped. "You have lost so many, Faramir, are you trying to lose your friends too? For that is what one could conclude."

I set my jaw. "In all your lives, Mithrandir, have you seen anyone as cursed as I? And what did they do to deserve it?" I do not know what was possessing me, for Mithrandir had been my closest friend since I was a lad. But somehow, I had the feeling that night that I could never have anymore friends, at least not real ones.

Mithrandir's face suddenly took on a grave expression. "Faramir, you have a tragic life, but not a miserable one. Think of your children, man! Think of your country!"

"YOU think of them, for I find it hard to trust in anything anymore," I replied. Mithrandir's eyes smoked, and we stared at each other long and hard.

"You do not trust in Eru, do you," he said, but it was not a question. There was no need to nod, for he knew the answer. "And you will not let your children either."

I snorted. "Why should they when life is pain? Why should I build up their minds with dreams and fantasies when the reality is cold and hard? I will prepare them for life's trials."

"But what of the good?" Mithrandir pleaded, again placing his hands on my desk. "What of all the love and light there is in life?"

"What of it? What has prevailed in my life? Only the darkness," I said.

Mithrandir shook his head. "That is because all you allow is the darkness," he murmured. There was silence in the room, and absolute stillness out the window behind me. The moon shone over the inanimate figures in the room, lighting up Mithrandir's face.

"Mithrandir, you are my friend," I finally said, "but you have done me no service. I will thank you to leave."

Never, never in all my days had I said anything like that to anyone, and I know Mithrandir was cut to the heart. But something else was dawning on his face, and he whispered something in an ancient tongue that I did not know. I saw his old face change to an archaic one, and he whispered as if in a trance, "He said that to me once. Those exact words. He said them."

I raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

His eyes burned into mine, piercing my depths, and for once under that gaze I felt unclean. "Your father."

It was as if he had struck me across the face. He of all people knew best the extent of what my father had done to me, and he knew what kind of man my father was. To call me my father to my face was, to me, as if calling me a minion of Sauron. I narrowed my eyes and hissed, "Get out."

Mithrandir turned as slowly as a century. At the door, he turned back to me, his gray eyes clouded with a grief I did not know he could possess. "No Faramir, I have not done you a service, for if I had, you would not be where you are. I pray that Eru will spare you from further pain, but I pray more for Feomir. And I want you to know that I will be keeping an eye on him, even as I kept an eye on you." He stopped, and with a deep breath he said, "I had hoped, and was almost quite sure it would never come to this, but it has. Hear me this final time, Faramir, if never again. _What would she want you to do? Éowyn, like Finduilas, would not wish for her child to be abused. Come back from the shadow and understand._"

And then he was gone. I set my heart and mind against him, willing his words away from me until they were gone. The next morning Mithrandir himself was gone, and it was not until much, much later that I realized what I had done.

And then it was too late.

* * *

**A/N:** Yes, I know-you all hate me now. I'M SORRY! But this had to happen, as you will someday see. I apologize, though. I myself have shed many tears because of Far's lack of insight. Now, please review! (And yes, the little fluffy part at the beginning was because of the enormous sadness of the rest of this chapter-had to give you something-)  



	11. Dark Days

**A/N:** I really think this is my favorite chapter, just because of the sheer drama in it. :-D I know you'll all want to kill me after this, but PWETTY PWEASE WIFF A CHEEWY ON TOP don't flame me. (Resist the urge...) And enjoy! The next chapter will come sooner or later, depending on how many reviews I get. Happy St. Patricks Day to one and all (especially if you're Irish). Hmm. I have no idea where that came from. I really don't get into St. Patty's Day, like, at all. But enjoy anyway. Don't get stoned, 'cause that's bad. Ta! (Oh, and HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!)

**Chapter Ten: Dark Days**

_"You hurled me into the deep,_

_ into the very heart of the seas,_

_ and the currents swirled about me;_

_ all your waves and breakers _

_ swept over me."_

_ -Jonah 2:3_

Things seemed to get worse and worse after Mithrandir left. I refused to let myself think about what I might have done, or what I was doing. I worked harder everyday, and as a result, Ithilien prospered.

But much suffered.

Morwen eventually stopped having nightmares, and Elboron seemed to be doing fine in archery (thanks to a few lessons from Legolas). But Feomir and I grew more at odds daily. Every little thing he did annoyed me...from the way he ate to the way he walked. Of course I did not share this information, but I think my son got the picture anyway. He would look at me sometimes in the exact same way I had looked at my father: like a patient and yet pained animal. And I wondered if he still loved me, for I had loved my father.

At nighttime, if I could not sleep, I thought about my father, and things about his life and why he hated me became clearer everyday. I had thought I would never understand them; here I was walking in his shoes. And I cried out to the stars for guidance..._why was it all happening to me?_

I admit, at times I thought of what my sweet wife would think, was she there. But when I thought in that channel, all my mind could think of was the fact that things would be so different if she WAS there that it was no use asking questions.

I also knew that Mithrandir had left Beregond with the job of watching over Feomir, and I began to resent the guard, though I knew he was my last friend. The King had tried once or twice to befriend me again, but I shook off his attempts, more out of jealousy than anything else, I suppose. He had a living wife, and he was happy in all he did. Eomer and Lothíriel too came to visit us, but their visit was short and somber, thanks entirely to me.

I admit it. I freely and whole-heartedly admit it to you, oh Eru. I ruined their lives, all of them. In my blindness, I could not see that what I thought was just the misfortune of my life in reality was harming and tearing apart my children's lives, my family's lives, and my friend's lives. And I, of all people, should have seen it! I, who had suffered abuse from the same man I was morphing into, I who had been the one whose life was ruined because of the bitterness and selfishness of one man. And now I was doing it to my own son.

Selfishness calls to the blind, and they answer.

I did.

It had been a little over a year since she died when I hit rock bottom, and I am going to tell you about it. No, I had to reach up to touch rock bottom. My life had degenerated into something it was not even when I was in the clutches of my abusive father.

I always had lessons with my children, everyday. They, of course, had tutors, but I liked to see what they were learning and how they were progressing. Elboron was the best in their arms practice, and Morwen had no competition in embroidery and such (literally), but Feomir, my smart lad, always outshone the others in any kind of schoolwork. He really was so like me, but I did not see it. I have stopped wondering why.

As I was saying, I was looking over their work one evening, and teaching Morwen the correct way to pronounce her elvish roots. I always liked teaching her, because she smiled so sweetly and took everything in. The next time you could be sure that, if there was a mistake, it was not the same one.

Feomir, who was now six (though he honestly had the mental capacity of a ten year old) was sitting at the table, straight and tall as I liked my children to sit, staring at a flickering candle. Suddenly, he leaned forward and blew it out with a puff of quick breath. I stopped writing and looked up at him.

"Why did you do that?" I asked sternly. He bit his lip and looked down.

"I'm sorry."

I set the pencil down. "Why did you do that?" I repeated.

Feomir looked up at me, as if deciding to tell the truth even if it would do no good. "Because...it was like mother."

"What?" I replied, dumbfounded and forgetting to be stern for a minute. He blushed and clarified quickly.

"It was flickering, and I blew it out. Mother's life was blown out quickly and suddenly, and now she is no more. She is gone forever."

I could have pondered the incredible depth this showed in my six year old, but instead I felt my ire rising. "Did you have to bring her up?" I snapped. Feomir's eyes kindled, then subsided again.

"She was my mother," he murmured, thinking I would not hear him. If I had been anyone else I doubt I would have, but twenty years in Ithilien had taught me, if nothing else, to have sharp hearing.

"She may have been your mother," I said through gritted teeth, "but she was my wife, and you cost me her."

His small face looked blank, and I saw something familiar slip over his face.

A mask.

My own mask, the mask MY father had formed, was in place too. Two masks staring at each other, neither knowing how to break the other down. Was I mad?

I heard a gasp behind me, and I turned to see Elboron staring at me as if he had lost his wits. "Father!" he managed, "what are you saying?"

"I thought you said it was not my fault," Feomir said quietly, ignoring his brother.

I also ignored Elboron. "The mouth may say one thing, but matters of the heart lie deep within." I quoted back. It was an old proverb of Gondor, and I had used it but once before. I do not even know why I used it then, for my chief end had been to bury my heart.

Feomir set his jaw. "She was protecting me."

I knew then that Morwen and Elboron were trying to understand what was going on, and I knew they never would. They had noticed many things in the past year, but I do not think they could have guessed the extent of the damage being done.

In two quick strides I was across the floor and I brought my hand back. Before I knew what was happening, the slap landed on his cheek and his head snapped around. Elboron rushed forward and Morwen screamed, and Feomir looked up at me in bitter grief. It was not until I saw the thin line of blood on his cheek and looked down at my hand to see it dropping back to my side that I realized fully what I had done.

I had struck my own child.

I believe children must be punished, and I have doled out justly received thrashings. But never in my life had I hit or harmed an innocent being, much less my own CHILD. Weight crashed down on my shoulders as the sound died out and I looked down, transfixed, into the face of my son whom I had struck.

Elboron stepped in front of Feomir then, blocking his brother's body with his own small one. I looked into his face and saw the utter defiance and protectiveness, and I knew then that it was over. I had turned my family into a vision of the past. I had placed Elboron in the position of intermediary trying to love an abusive father and help his brother at the same time.

An abusive father?

Oh Eru, what had I done?

Was this possible? What kind of animal had I turned into?

Had I forgotten my own childhood? How could I?

I stepped forward with sudden compassion and a desire to set things right, and I do not doubt it might have happened, but Elboron set his jaw and looked up at me in defiance. "Don't touch him," he hissed.

I reeled back, grabbing my hand with which I had struck him and shaking my head. "II didn't mean..." I could not take it any longer, and I ran.

Away from my children.

Away from release.

Away from the right thing.

Away from love.

* * *

It is impossible to describe my emotions as I sprinted into my room and flung myself at the window, tears of fear and turmoil streaming down my cheeks. They were the first I had cried since a year ago, practically, and I was, I admit, a bit ashamed of them. My heart seemed to be leaping against my chest as if saying over and over, "I'm here! I'm here! You tried to deny me for so long, but I AM HERE!" I bent my head into my hands and allowed my bitter tears to wash over them for a long minute, my gasping sobs echoing through the still room. 

Eventually, I got a hold of myself again and tried to use reason, telling myself that it was normal for a child to get a scolding.

_Not like that._

Not like what?

_A slap across the face. No sane parent slaps their child. What will they learn from that?_

So it was one time. I won't do it again, I promise!

_It's only the start of something larger. How did your father start?_

I whammed my head against the table, trying to rid myself of the voice. I suppose I knew it was my conscience, but I had been trying to do away with it for so long it came as a shock to me then. Sharp pain triggered by the contact flooded my head, and, for a minute, I forgot about it all. But then it became a dull ache and everything came back to me. I raised my head, again weeping, and then I saw it.

Across the room, in a cabinet, stood a bottle of wine, full to the brim and ready to be drunk. I stood shakily and walked toward it, all other thoughts rushing from my head.

I had never drunk the stuff, since my father was an alcoholic and he used to beat me when he was drunk. I kept it around for emergencies onlywhen the pain from a wound became too great to bear or, more recently, when one of my children was ill and needed something to calm them. But I had never drunk the stuff, for I knew what it could do. And now, in the face of what I had done, I had two options.

I could take it down and drink it.

I could shut the cabinet and resist a temptation stronger than I felt I could resist at the moment.

I took it down.

The red wine glittered in the dying light almost evilly, as if it knew what it was about to do to me. I did not think of what the consequences would be, I only knew that with wine you could forget. With wine you could dream about what used to be, and you would not know that your wife was dead, your children were being harmed, and your friends were estranged.

And so, my readers, you see fully what I had become. I cannot even pen these words without weeping bitterly over what I had done, and what I was putting us all through. And I know now, that had I not forsaken Eru, my maker, I would not have been where I was then.

Too many stories would end here, in the lowest ditch humanity can throw itself into, but only by the grace of Eru mine does not. And I can only wonder, speculate, and question, why? Why me? I have been asking that my entire life, but I will never have an answer until I meet my maker and ask him those questions face to face.

I uncorked the bottle, my hands shaking so bad I spilled the rich wine on the table a little, and poured a large quantity into a glass. I lifted it up to the light, watching it, then brought it to my lips.

Then I brought it back down.

My subconscious was kicking in, making one last futile effort to regain control over my mind. I fought back viscously, and my hand went up again. _Forget, forget, forget..._

"FARAMIR!" screamed a voice, and I heard the door being thrown open. I whirled around to face...Beregond.

My guard was panting, his face marked by dirt and tear tracks, and he stood with one hand still on the door handle. Evidently he had come from the great hall, where my children were probably still sitting. His face bore a slightly angry expression, but more so fear and pain. I scowled at him.

"What do you want?" I snapped, my voice harsher than it had ever been before.

Beregond straightened. "Faramir, how could you? To strike Feomir, though he may...sweet Eru, what are you doing?" His eyes widened as he saw the bottle of wine and the full glass sitting on the table. In two steps he was by my side, speechless.

You must believe that I _wanted_ to say I was sorry...I wanted to ask him for help, any kind of help, to fix the ruins of my life. But I couldn't. The cold mask that I had made for myself in the past year slipped on, and, try as I might, I could not get it off. "I do not require your presence," I replied. "I can deal with my own problems, thank you."

Beregond stepped back, in shock, and I could read his heart through his eyes as plain as day: _This is the man I risked my life for?_ And something else was there...something I do not like to repeat. But it was there just the same. He was thinking that it would have been better had I died.

"Faramir," he gasped, "Who are you? Where is the Captain I would have followed to the end of my days? Wake up, man!" he said, shaking my shoulder. My reflexes from my service in the army were still acute, and before I could stop myself I had crossed his jaw with my fist. He tumbled backwards, holding his chin and staring at me with wide eyes.

"Leave me!" I snarled. "Leave me alone!"

Beregond backed away, and I could hear his sobs as he slowly shut the door. "Don't do it, Faramir. _Please..._"

As soon as the door was shut my strength left me and I hunched over the table, staring at the wine. _Forget... _I picked the glass up and put it to my lips, ready to drink...

_...It would have been better had I died..._

With a strangled curse, I hurled the glass against the wall, where it shattered into a million pieces and splashed red wine all over the room. Sobs racking my body, I smashed my head against the table again and again and again, until I couldn't feel it any longer. As I felt myself slipping away from reality I heard myself murmur two words:

_I'm sorry...  
_

_

* * *

_

**A/N:** Still breathing? Now review, and you can see who finds him and what she...oops! Gave away too much already! 8-D


	12. The World As Best As I Remember It

**A/N:** Thank you all for being patient, and also for your lovely reviews. Oh, and thank you my lovely reviewers for pointing out some things...

lindahoyland - They would probably have drunk ale or cider or some sort of other diluted spirit, so when I say he never drank, I mean never drank strong liquor. Thanks for noticing and making me aware of that! Also, I'm sorry for neglecting to answer your review from chapter nine...yes, I did fudge a little on my facts with the whole Gandalf thing. If you want, you can think of this as AU, but I'll leave that up to my readers. I just want you all to know that Gandalf _did_ sail away before I have him going, so you're not like, "Heeey, didn't Gandalf..."

Nonce - Yes, I have been writing like that the whole time, though not as blatantly. I'm so sorry if it threw you off! I didn't mean for it to, but that was the way I started writing it, and I kinda wanted it to be like he's trying to teach a lesson here. I even considered having him writing this to his son...but anyway, sorry!

And now I shall pull you all off that cliff! Enjoy:-)

**This chapter is dedicated to my good friend Debbie...also known as Quellerûth.**

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Chapter Eleven: The World As Best As I Remember It

_"For I am about to fall,_

_ and my pain is ever with me._

_I confess my iniquity;_

_ I am troubled by my sin."_

_ -Psalms 38:17-18_

Hours later, I awoke to the sensation of a gentle hand stroking my brow. Something cold, yet comfortable, was laid upon my head (which, by the way, ached terribly) and I heard a soft, feminine voice humming a tune. My initial thought was, of course, that Éowyn was holding me against herself and soothing my worries away, but within five minutes I knew it was not her. The voice was too high...the hands did not have that particular Éowynish feel to them. Besides, Éowyn was dead.

I opened my eyes hazily, then closed them again as the objects in the room spun around and around. The light hurt my eyes, and it took me a minute to open them again. Nothing had changed, and I shut my eyes wearily.

"Do not try to open them," a voice said above me, and a woman's hand began massaging my temples. "I do not know exactly what you did to yourself, but it was brutal."

I licked my lips and whispered hoarsely, "Who are you?"

She laughed softly, and I recognized her laugh from somewhere. I could not place it exactly, and it hurt to ponder over it. Instead I put reached my hand up to her face and felt gently. Lips, high cheek-bones, small nose, eyes, soft hair pulled back into a twist.

"Have you come a conclusion yet, my lord?" she asked, a chuckle contained in her still gentle tones. Anything shrill at the moment would have sent me reeling back into unconsciousness. I shook my head and began raising myself up; I found that I had been lying in her arms with my head pillowed on her shoulder. She helped me stay sitting for a minute, and then I tentatively tried opening my eyes again. This time I persevered until the room came to a halt, though the objects did not have their normal clarity. Then I turned toward my unidentified aid.

I blinked into the light, staring at the woman until I could put two and two together and figure out where I had seen her before. Sheena, that was her name. I had hired her as a nurse for my children. For a minute I was confused, and then I asked, "What are you doing in here?"

Sheena's smile fell and she touched my head. I flinched involuntarily. "I found you like this, this morning, when I came to find out why you were not at your children's lessons. Should I have called Beregond, my lord?" she asked, her face beginning to look frightened.

"No!" I said forcefully, then winced as my headache pounded from the exertion. "No, that's alright," I said quietly. "Where...where was I?"

Sheena pointed to the table. "You were lying on the floor by that table, and you had that awful bruise on your forehead. The windows were locked, and I knew that no one could get in here from the door, so I concluded..." she halted, looking down. "Anyway, I tried to revive you, and I have."

I eased my aching body into a seat and put my head in my hands. "Sheena, please, answer something for me."

She came over and stood next to me. "Anything," she said passionately.

"How are my children?" I whispered. I do not know what her face looked like, but her voice was measured and calm.

"Elboron was up late last night, unwilling to go to sleep. Morwen had nightmare after nightmare."

"And..." I choked to a halt.

"Feomir?" she asked. "He lay all night with his face toward the wall, but I do not think he slept."

I nodded. Suddenly, I felt her small hand slip into mine. "There is still time," she murmured. "Time to correct what went wrong."

I shook my head slowly, ignoring the pain in the action. "Time waits for no man."

Her other hand was on my neck, now, drawing me toward herself. I stiffened when I realized what she was about to do. What she meant by it, I will leave up to you to decided for yourself, but I can tell you that the feelings that exploded inside of me as she brushed her lips softly against my temple were beyond bearing. I jerked my head away and rose for the chair, stalking over to the window and leaning my head against the cool glass. I heard her make a small noise of surprise behind me, and I turned.

She stood with one hand still on the chair, the other raised in a searching gesture. Her eyes asked me why? a million times over. I shook my head. "Sheena, I am sorry. There can only be one woman for me...could only be one woman for me. I do not think I am capable of loving another woman, and if I do not love her how can I"

"I understand," she cut in, bowing her head and starting toward the door. "The children need me anyway."

I opened my mouth and shut it again immediately as she left the room without a final glance my way. There was no need to ask her if my children wanted ME.

They did not.

I fell onto the couch with a groan, glancing into the mirror. The sight which met my eyes was revolting...a huge black, blue, and green bruise flecked with blood covered my forehead. I gulped down some water and then turned on my side, trying desperately to ignore the pain and sleep.

* * *

I dozed fitfully all day, until around one o' clock the clatter of logs startled me out of my sleep. I immediately pulled the dagger out of my boot and rose to my feet. 

Standing before me was the servant girl, Quellerûth, holding the tongs for the fire and looking very scared indeed. "I'm sorry, sir!" she cried, "I didn't mean to do it! I'm so sorry for waking you up." Her eyes traveled in shock to my forehead, and I put my dagger back with a sigh.

"It's alright...just finish your job and go," I said, seating myself on the couch again. She scrambled to pick up the logs and re-stoke the fire, using the huge tongs deftly for one so small. From time to time she would look up at me in fear, and then always she would cast her eyes on the hem of her worn dress. Finally, she stood to go and lifted her heavy basket of firewood. "I-I'm sorry, sir," she stammered again. I nodded. "I forgive you."

She turned to go out the door, mumbling, "It's a shame, really. Him so bruised and the little 'un too..."

"What did you say?" I asked. She froze.

"N-nothing, your lordship. I was merely..." she trailed off, caught. Carefully, she set the basket down and turned. "I-I thought it wrong they didn't tell you, but they are so much wiser'n me, and they know best"

"Know WHAT?" I urged, sitting up straight.

"Well, it's not likely to do much good, tellin' you" she hedged.

"TELL ME!" I practically screamed, and her eyes grew as wide as saucers. With more than one gulp for air she whispered, "Th-th-that Feomir has run off, sir."

In less than a second I was out of my seat and flying down the hallways, ignoring the servant girl's plaintive pleas that she was sorry. I could have run the course I was taking in the dark, but it seemed like forever until I got to my children's rooms.

As I ran into the room, I saw that practically everyone was there. Sheena sat on the bed, holding a sobbing Morwen in her arms. Elboron stood by the window, and Beregond was talking in hushes tones to one of my captains. Upon my approach they all looked at me and their faces displayed a universal emotion: hostility. I stopped dead in my tracks.

"What happened?" I asked, addressing Beregond. My guard raised his eyebrows, and I saw his eyes travel to my forehead. "It seems I should be asking you the same, my lord."

"This is no time for games, Beregond," I snapped. "Where is Feomir?"

"He ran away!" Elboron screamed at me, and his fists balled at his sides as if he wanted to strike me. "He's gone and we don't know where he went!"

"We are sending out a search party," Beregond said icily. "But we will not need you on it."

I looked up at him helplessly, but his heart had been hardened against me. I backed out of the room and hurried down the hall. Once in my room again, I slumped against the wall, feeling at the sharp stones which seemed to be the only real things in this whole awful nightmare. I leaned my aching head back against them, and with the pounding of the blood in my temples came one sentence:

_You know where he is._

The others did now know where he had gone, but I did. I did because the boy was so like me I could depend upon him doing what I would have done, had I run away.

With a gasping sob, I flung my cloak around me and hurried outside the stables where I ignored the stable boy and saddled Silivren, Éowyn's horse. Then, mounting her, I rode out of the gates without a word to anyone in the household. They would not care that I was gone anyway.

Silivren's flanks were foaming by the time I reached the White Woods, south of my house by ten miles. Feomir loved these woods, as I did, and I had more than a good hunch that he was in here. Desperation and a strong sense of wrong urged me to hunt the boy down. And...now that I knew my son might be harmed, I was anxious for his well-being. I had seen the trait in my father many times when I was ill or wounded over the years. And yet one hand washed the other...on all of those occasions, though he came and seemed concerned about me, he always managed to make it seem like the hurt was my fault and another failure on my part.

I dismounted Silivren and tethered her to a tree, patting her neck soothingly. Then I walked noiselessly through the fallen leaves into the forest.

I must have walked for ten minutes before I stopped and closed my eyes, placing myself in a young boy's mindset. Where would I have gone, had I given up on my father ever loving me? Where would I have gone after I had received a beating?

_The river..._

Any type of water had always fascinated me, perhaps because the sea had always belonged to Amme. I had noticed that my son shared my enthusiasm over the water, and so I knew that I had chosen correctly. Stumbling, I hurried toward the bubbling water, tripping over sticks and rocks. Before I knew it, I came to a steep cliff overhanging a portion of the river and came up sharply. I would have to be careful to get down this...

What was that?

Down at the bottom of the cliff, right next to the water, lay a form. It was all huddled up, but the way its legs were lying...

Oh Eru, NO!

"Feomir!" I screamed as I half slipped, half ran down the steep hill. My heart pounded within my chest, rattling my lungs until I could not breath. Pounding waves of pain flooded my head, and my legs felt numb and weak. Before I could stop myself, I fell the last six feet and landed with a jarring thump at the bottom of the cliff. I could not stand (the breath had been knocked out of me so hard) but I crawled on my hands and knees to reach the prostrate figure of...

Feomir.

_And her sky is just a bandit, _

_Swingin' at the end of a hangman's noose_

_'Cause he stole the moon and must be made to pay for it_

_And her friends say, "My, that's tragic."_

_ And she says, "I should weep for the moon."_

_ And this is the world as best as I can remember it._

_

* * *

_  
"The World As Best As I Remember It" is the property of Rich Mullins. To find the song and full lyrics, look on "The World As Best As I Remember It: Volume I" CD.

* * *

**A/N:** For all of you who thought Sheena and Faramir should have gotten togetherit just wouldn't work. Really! He simply _can't_ love again. That's just who he is. But don't worry, I shan't leave Sheena hanging. I'll get her all wrapped up and tied with a bow for you! Oh, and sorry if this is another cliffhanger...what could I do? Review, and ye shall have thy story... 


	13. Giving It All Up

**A/N:** There are three explanations for why I have not posted on this story (the last chapter, no less!) for about five years.

a) A huge green gorrilla stole my computer and I didn't get it back until today.

b) I belong to a cult which does not allow LOTR fanfiction in the months of April and May.

c) I completely, totally, absolutely forgot about this story.

Yes, it's c). I'M SORRY! I REPENT IN SACK-CLOTH AND ASHES, OKAY? But honestly, be grateful to a few specific reviewers who reminded me I hadn't posted all of this story. If not for them, well, would you ever have found out the end? It's doubtful at best.

Anyway, I've also had a very hectic two weeks, so when I finally DID remember this, I couldn't find time to post until today. But prom is over, my play is over, and school ends next week, so hopefully I'll have more time to write and post (uhahaha...) in the summer. Enjoy the last chapter, and there is an epilogue. So review (please?) and I'll post the epilogue.

**  
Chapter Twelve: Giving It All Up**

_"Be still, and know that I am God;_

_ I will be exalted among the_

_ nations,_

_ I will be exalted in the earth."_

_ -Psalms 46:10_

Weeping, I cradled his limp body in my arms. He was not dead, I could see that, but I was not sure how badly he was hurt. The leaves had drifted down among him, doubtless loosened by his fall.

My head ached. My body ached. My heart ached. The world had become hell to me, and I had nowhere to turn. What had I done to deserve this? The bitter wind blowing over us somehow made its way to my heart and pierced the careful wall I had built over the past year, tearing down brick after brick. My wife was dead. My brother was dead. My father was dead. My mother was dead. My son was dying...the son I had estranged until I had adopted my father's ways. My friends did not come to visit anymore, for when they did I could not stand them. The list seemed to go on and on, stretching to infinity.

It was all my fault. This child, lying in my arms...what happened to him was all my fault. I looked down at his face and saw the small bruise on his right cheek...and bitter sobs broke out of my throat, hurling themselves into the wind to be lost to me forever. Like everything else.

I leaned my head back until I could see the gray, cold sky through the leaves overhead and called, "What more do you want of me!" My voice had started through my throat as a yell, but by the time it reached the air it was only a defeated whisper. A cracked and broken thing, like the cracked and broken man it came from. Again, I called, "What more do you want of me!"

_Your trust..._

Where had that voice come from? I looked around wildly, searching the bushes and trees for the speaker who had uttered those words.

"Who are you?" I asked.

_You know..._

"Where are you!" I shrieked, clutching Feomir to myself. My mind was half hysterical, and I imagined a black shape behind every rock and fern. There was absolute silence in the woods, besides the beating of my heart. It was so loud I was sure every person within ten miles would hear it and come to find me. But there was no one there. No one approached me. The voice had come from somewhere else. I closed my eyes, wishing it would all just go away; I could not take it anymore! Peace...that was what I wanted. Could I not have just a moments peace?

_Not unless you follow the truth..._

That voice again! I opened my eyes, and as I did so, I realized where it was coming from: deep inside of my heart.

I recoiled from the thought and said softly, "Who-who are you?"

_I am the thirst every man has in their heart. I am the part of you that knows there is something greater than this...torture._

"What do you want?" I asked, my breath growing harsher with every moment.

_Trust. You must learn to trust in Him, and not in yourself. Only then will you find true freedom._

"No!" I shouted. I knew who he meant, and there was nothing there for me. Eru had forsaken ME and thrown all of these trials on me. Why should I trust in the one who had given me over to torture and grief; depression and anger? NO!

_ "Where were you when I laid the _

_ earth's foundation?_

_ Tell me, if you understand._

_ Who marked off its dimensions?_

_ Surely you know!_

_ Who stretched a measuring line_

_ across it?_

_ On what were its footings set,_

_ or who laid its cornerstone---_

_ while the morning stars sang _

_ together?_

_ and all the angels shouted for_

_ joy?" (1)  
_

I looked up to the heavens in confusion as the words sprang into my mind, wondering where they came from. The surrounding objects seemed to dim in my eyes as words sprang into my heart: _Who are you to question Eru?_

I stopped my ears, throwing myself to the ground. Those words...I had to get them out of my head! But with every pounding breath I took they hammered over and over: _Who are you to question Eru?_

Did He really have a purpose for all of this? _Could_ He have a purpose? My uncle's words also came back to me then: "The only way I have been able to keep from becoming bitter is by placing my trust in Eru. I pray that you will do the same." But how could I trust in Him, for wasn't it He who had cast all these afflictions on me?

_"Would you discredit my justice?_

_ Would you condemn me to justify_

_ yourself?" (2)  
_

The words seemed to drill into me until I could not breathe, and I shook my head fiercely. _I am too small! I cannot understand these things that are too great for me to comprehend!_

_Then give them up. Place your trust in Eru, and he will deliver you._

For a minute I hovered, uncertain, on the brink of a chasm. I had the immense feeling that I was about to plunge headlong downwards, but what I was plunging into, I knew not. And then I made up my mind. I could never begin to understand the ways of Eru. But I also could not take anymore of this torture. If it really was true that by placing my trust in Eru--who was bigger than anything I could comprehend--I had very little choice. And as the wind blew chillingly in my face, I gave my burdens up to Eru and stepped off the ledge of the cliff.

Immediately peace flooded me, and the weight that had been pressing down on my shoulders for a year was gone. I searched for that spot in my heart that had been aching fiercely ever since Éowyn had died, but it was not there. My eyes filled with tears, but this time I wept for joy, not bitterness. What I had jumped into---it was a peace that transcends all understanding, and it covered my aching soul as balm covers a wound.

As I slowly became aware of where I was, I realized I was lying face-down in the mud, and I raised myself up with a little shudder of weariness. Now that my soul was not crying out to be freed, my full tiredness fell on me and for a minute I thought I was going to pass out. But then I heard a small voice behind me...

"Father?"

I turned in record time, my face no doubt displaying the joy I felt upon seeing my son with his eyes open. He seemed to be wondering where he was and how he had gotten there, and then memory flooded his big eyes and he shuddered. "F-father! What are you doing here?" he stuttered, fear showing on his face. Sobs rose in my chest but I controlled them until they were just silent tears streaming down my face. I reached for Feomir and pulled him against myself. He was so thin it seemed like I could feel every bone in his body. I could sense his shock, but I ignored it, instead saying through my tears, "I'm so sorry, Feomir! I have sinned, oh I have sinned! Please forgive me, my child."

Feomir made a small noise like a choke, and when I looked at his face it was wide with wonder. "I-I..." he trailed off and shook his head. "For what?"

I hugged him again, kissing his hair over and over again until I suppose the poor boy was in danger of being suffocated. Finally, my passion abated a little, and I pulled back again. Looking him directly in the eye, I said gently, "Feomir, I have wronged you in this past year. It was not your fault that your mother died, and I was wrong to use it against you. Will you forgive me, Feomir?"

He hesitated for a minute, looking up at me with big, disbelieving eyes. I could see all his emotions passing so clearly through his large, unblinking eyes, and it suddenly struck me that, had I not been forced to form a mask for my emotions, I would do the same thing. I longed desperately to keep him, my son, from that fate. That I could ever empathize my father was so beyond belief, and on impulse, I reached out tentatively. What would have happened to me if he had not reached back, I do not know, and I do not wish to know. The important thing is that he reached out, and with that gesture, I saw that he forgave me.

The words that he said to me and that I said to him I will leave unwritten, for some things are private and do better to remain so. But I will say that there was perhaps no sweeter day throughout all of my life.

In time, I noticed that he was not using his left leg, and I, of course, remembered his fall. Upon inspecting it, I found that it was broken. Feomir did not cry as I tested how far he could bend it, but his eyes looked up at me patiently, waiting until I pronounced judgment upon it. "It is broken," I finally said. "But it will heal, and you will be good as new in a few months." Then, brushing his hair behind his ear, I said, "We are lucky it was nothing more serious."

As I lifted my son up and began walking out of the woods to my waiting horse, he asked me suddenly, "Father? What did Grandfather do to you?"

I bit my lip, sighing inwardly. "Feomir, there are some things that you do not need to know...yet. But ask me again when you are twelve and I promise I will tell you."

He nodded wearily, settling his head against my shoulder. As I lifted him up onto the horse and settled myself behind him, I told him, "Feomir? There is a God, and He takes care of us."

Feomir nodded. "I know. I have been praying that you would see too."

I did not answer him, but urged Silivren into a swift trot to get us home as quickly as possible. Only when I got in sight of the walls of my home did I realize I would have to reconcile to all of the rest of my family and friends, and I realized I was not ready for it.

"Feomir?" I asked, stopping the horse. Fear crept into my voice and for a minute, curled it's claws around my heart. "Do you truly forgive me? Can you? Will you? And will...will Elboron and Morwen?"

Feomir turned to look up into my face. I do not think I have ever seen such a happy face since that moment. "Do you love me?" he simply asked.

"Yes," I said. No large words were needed; just simple truth. And I meant it, with all of my heart.

"Then there is nothing to fear," my son whispered.

At that moment, I realized that all he had wanted was my love. All he had striven after was my love, my approval. And all I had striven after with my own father was his love and approval. "Feomir," I said, "you are the best son I could wish for. I am sorry."

His eyes filled with tears, and he laid his head against my chest. "Thank you, Father."

I urged the horse into a walk and we passed through the gate. Servants, previously scuttling here and there, stopped dead in their tracks and stared at us. Among them I saw Quellerûth, smiling broadly and holding a bucket in one hand. For a moment there was dead silence, and then hushed murmurs spread as quickly as wild-fire around the courtyard. I handed the reigns to one stable boy and lifted Feomir down from the horse, cradling him against my chest as I walked toward the door.

Just as I reached it, it swung open and Beregond stormed out, a determined look on his face. As soon as he laid eyes on me he stopped, disbelief washing over his face. He opened his mouth to say something, but it merely stayed there in a hanging position as I brushed past him and carried Feomir into the house.

* * *

It was not long until my youngest son was sleeping peacefully. A healer had seen to his leg and set the bone, and he was under the influence of pain relieving drugs when I kissed him softly on the cheek and turned to leave the room. At the door, I turned and looked back on my son. "Thank you," I whispered to the silence. "Thank you for saving me and sparing him." 

Then I shut the door gently and went out.

In the hallway, I found Beregond leaning against the wall with a look of utter shock on his face. "My lord?" he asked doubtfully, standing up straight. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but I shook my head.

"No, Beregond, please. Address me by my name."

He laid a hand heavily on my shoulder. "Faramir," he murmured, "what happened? Out there...in the woods." He jerked his head toward the window without taking his eyes off me.

I lowered my head, sighing inaudibly. "I am not sure," I said gently. "It is a mystery, really. But I can tell you that never again will I forsake my God. I was a fool to doubt him in my heart, and I ruined the lives of those around me by doing so."

"No," Beregond said, and to my surprise, I found him to be smiling when I looked up. "You have not ruined us. I admit I was a little scared for you..." his smile fell and he searched my face. "Faramir, you are too strong. You are _not_ your father, and you never will be."

I nodded slowly, and then Beregond embraced me, clasping my hand in a warm shake. "I would follow you to the end, my Captain," he whispered as we drew apart.

Before I had a chance to say thank you to my friend I heard a noise behind me and I turned to find Elboron and Morwen standing in the hallway. Morwen clutched a doll, her eyes as wide as saucers, and Elboron bore the look of one who wishes to cry but does not. Immediately I dropped to my knees and opened my arms.

"I'm so sorry," I said uncertainly. "Can you ever forgive me for what I have done?"

Morwen glanced at her big brother, checking his reaction. I cannot describe the look in his eyes, for my own eyes were filling with tears as I realized my children had become afraid of me. _How can I win their trust back?_ I asked myself.

"Is---is Feomir alright?" Elboron asked finally.

I nodded, not trusting my voice. "He needs rest and quiet, but he will be fine."

Suddenly, Morwen flung herself at me, sobbing. "Father!" she cried, "I love you so much!"

I clutched my baby girl to me, running my hands through her hair and patting her on the back. "I love you too," I whispered gently. "Oh, so much." And as I bowed my head over hers, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Do you love him, Father?" Elboron asked, so quietly I had difficulty hearing him. I lifted my eyes to his face, letting them tell him the truth.

"Yes," I answered for the second time that day. He visibly relaxed. I do not think it ever crossed his mind to disbelieve me, for though I meant what I said with every particle of myself, I could easily have told a lie. But perhaps my voice was too sincere; perhaps I had not done so much damage yet that he did not trust my word. In any case, he too joined my hug, and our tears mingled together for not the first nor last time.

* * *

That night, I stood at my window and looked out at the moon, hanging over the fields in a bright orb. Thoughts flitted through my head, ranging from my son's well-being to the forgiveness and joy I had found that day. My thoughts dwelled on Éowyn quite a bit too, and I thought more than once, _I will try my best, sweetheart. Without you it will be hard, but I will try. And I will not be alone, now. I will have an ally better and more good and powerful than anyone or anything else._

As I was just about to retire I heard a gentle knock on my door, and when I opened it I found Sheena standing there. She was dressed in a soft, warm dressing gown, and her hair fell braided down her back. Her face had a tranquil air. "May I come in?" she whispered. I nodded, opening the door wide for her.

As she sat in a chair, she said quietly, "I came to say I'm sorry for my conduct earlier today. It was wrong...please forgive me."

I laughed softly. "There have been so many forgivenesses today I do not think I can keep track of them. But yes, I do forgive you. And I beg your pardon too. If I did anything to encourage such affection..."

She shook her head with a queer smile. "No, my lord. You are not to blame at all."

Silence fell between us, and I watched the candles flicker and shake on the table. Finally, she stood. "I must go now," she said. I nodded and opened the door for her.

As she was leaving, she suddenly turned and looked at me. "I should like..." she trailed off and bit her lip.

"Go on," I encouraged, smiling down at her.

She looked me in the eye, summoning up her courage. "I should like to be your friend, my lord. If you would do me that honor, I would be so pleased. I can help you. And---I should so like to be like a mother to the children."

I nodded slowly. "I would enjoy your friendship very much, Sheena. And please, call me Faramir."

As she left, I again stopped her. "Is there not some other man you have your eye on? You should marry and be happy, Sheena," I said.

She gave me that queer smile again and shook her head. "I am perfectly content." We looked at each other for another minute, and then she took my hand. "The children love you," she whispered. "They would never wish for another father." Then she left, leaving a warmth in the room that had not been there before.

I walked back over to the window and stared back out, pondering anew. And as I looked at the beautiful moon, which the land I lived in was named after, my thoughts ran thus: _Eru, thank you for the life of my son, my precious Feomir. With your love and blessing, I was reconciled with him, and had a second chance. Only through Your mercy, oh Eru. I could never do anything to deserve that. _

_I may never know why the things that happened in my life happened, but now I know that there is a purpose to them. And I look forward to the day when we will meet face to face and those reasons will be explained to me. _

_Éowyn, I am coming to you. Boromir, mother, father...wait for me. But first I must fulfill my life here on earth._

_And I shall._

**The End**

* * *

(1) Job 38:4-7 

(2) Job 40:8

* * *

**A/N:** Well, that about tops it off. A few loose ends to tie up in the epilogue, but did you like it? This chapter was pretty long. Did it end well? I hope so. I do so hate it when a good story ends badly. Let me know! 


	14. Epilogue

**A/N:** Thank you, all you who read this story and reviewed it so many times. I can't tell you what an encouragement you were to me, and all you who criticized me were also very helpful. (A little painful at times, but very good for me.) I'm glad the majority of you liked the ending, and Not Sure, I'm sorry you were disappointed. Actually, I wrote this epilogue to help with the somewhat abrupt ending, so I hope it makes things a little smoother for you.

Again, you were wonderful readers, and I look forward to posting more!

****

Epilogue 

_"He lifted me out of the slimy pit,_

out of the mud and mire;

he set my feet on a rock

and gave me a firm place to stand.

He put a new song in my mouth,

a hymn of praise to our God.

Many will see and fear

and put their trust in the Lord."

-Psalms 40:2-3

I hope that you are not naive enough to think that my life was perfect after the day I gave my burdens to Eru. Clearly, if that is the case, you have not experienced life, nor life walking with Eru. For no, my life was far from perfect.

But it was better than I had ever thought it could be, again. Instead of being bitter over my trials, I learned slowly, day by day, to learn from them and try to understand why I was put through them. I learned to discontinue blaming others for my problems. And I learned to love my children again.

Feomir and I were always the closest, and there is no shame in that. He was so like me I always understood him, and many was the time I wondered how I could ever have loathed him. Of course, he understood me as well, and there were times I wished he did not have such clear perceptiveness, but overall my son and I were two peas in a pod.

Elboron blossomed into a fine young man and never had to arbitrate between Feomir and myself again. In fact it was sometimes the other way around...Feomir would explain to Elboron why I disciplined or reprimanded him. He reminded me of Boromir daily, and I never lost the bitter-sweetness of looking at my son and remembering my brother, though I learned to accept Elboron for the man he was.

Morwen, my sweet daughter, eventually stopped having nightmares and lost her innate fear for snakes. She grew to be a beautiful young woman with hair the exact color of Éowyn's, though her spirit resembled mine more than her mother's. At the age of eighteen she was married to a worthy young man and they have had five children...with more on the way. She often visits and I believe some of my happiest moments are with my grandchildren.

Sheena never married, and she was indeed a great friend and a mother to the children. I never shook the feeling that she wished for there to be something else in our relationship, but I had nothing left to give. And so we were simply friends until she died. My children and I mourned her deeply, for she was always there throughout their childhood, and was much like the mother they did not have.

Ithilien, too, has prospered, and it seems like a long time indeed since the War of the Ring and its horrors. King Aragorn has been fair and just, and his son, Eldarion, is also a young man of wisdom. Gondor has hope for a long and prosperous future ahead, and I am glad of it.

My Uncle Imrahil has, I regret to say, passed out of the circles of this world and into the next. The very day I returned with Feomir from the woods, I sent for him, saying only that something crucial had been made known to me. He came promptly, and we reconciled. There were many tears, embraces, and fond words. He came from Dol Amroth twice a year until his death, and I took my children out to the sea many times as well.

No one could ever replace my uncle, and I do not know what I would have done without him. He was proof, I believe, that Eru was working all things in my life for good. Rest in peace, Imrahil, for you are missed.

Eomer, Lothíriel, and their children, have also become close friends, and we visit once a year with them. The distance is becoming greater now that we are growing older, but I have no doubt that our children will carry on the tradition of meeting.

On a sadder note, and one that causes me much, much pain, Mithrandir and I never saw each other again. He took a ship from the Gray Havens with Frodo, Galadriel, and Celeborn, and now resides in Valinor. This is the area in my life that I wish I could change the most, for Mithrandir was my closest friend for years, and it was not right that I did not consider his council. I blush even now, for he was a wizard...one of the Istari, and their wisdom is above, it can be argued, even the elves'. But I cling to the hope that we will be reunited after death, and I can beg forgiveness of him then. I have no doubt he will freely give it, and I believe in his heart, Mithrandir knew what was going to happen.

And now my life draws to a close...ever closer I can feel the hand of death drawing. I am not afraid, nor disappointed. And yet I am not anxious that it should come. It seems almost strange, really, that I am not in a hurry to face death. All those years I would have welcomed its approach, and now I am indifferent to it. I have lived my life as best I can, most of the time, and the others I have repented of. I know that Eru will welcome me with open arms.

My love for Éowyn has never abated, and I have never stopped missing her. The ache in my heart, or rather, the loneliness, has never disappeared entirely, though I have learned to live with that, too. If there is one thing that I am glad for, it is that I will be reunited with Éowyn when my light of life is blown out. She has been waiting for me for years, but I believe I have missed her more than she has missed me. And that is how it should be.

Not only does my life draw to an end---this story does also. I hope you have learned something by my example, and I pray that, whatever happens in your life, you will understand that only one thing really matters: whether you are right with Eru.

On one of my early morning rides with Feomir, recently, we stopped at the brink of the Andúin and looked on in silence. We both love those rides, when everything is so still and peaceful. The mist is just rising, and the sun is only just breaking over the hills. It always reminds me of something I have lost, or something that I cannot remember. The feeling of oneness with my horse, trotting gently over those rolling slopes, and the silent companionship with my son are priceless.

The water rushed past us in a silent stream, as if it too was loath to break the silence with its bubbling noise. And as I stared into the deep, cool, churning mass, a thought popped into my head. _I was becoming just like my father_, I thought to myself, _and it was wrong. But there was more to the mistake I made._ _My error was not becoming just like my father. My error was choosing the wrong father. Becoming just like my earthly father was wrong; becoming like my heavenly one is right._

And that is what I strive more and more for. Every day I pray, work, and hope that I can be...

Just like my father.


End file.
